~ The Secret ~
(Agere Short Story)
It happens so suddenly, you barely have time to think. Your bag, and its contents, spilled all over the floor. Your rival, as usual, finding even more ways to be a nuisance to you day by day.
You wouldn't care.
You wouldn't care, usually, and you don't, not until you see exactly what spilled out of your bag.
A pacifier (an adult pacifier) which you rush to pick up, hoping that against all odds, they hadn't seen it.
You think you got lucky because for a while, they don't say anything. Thank God. They must have missed it, you think.
But then one day, during an especially heated argument, the dreaded words slip out of their mouth.
"Tough words for someone who still uses a pacifier."
You stop dead in your tracks. The smirk quickly drops from their face as they see how absolutely livid you look and they realise that they probably went a little too far.
Completely overwhelmed, you decide your only option is to leave as quickly as possible.
"Wait, I'm-"
You don't let them finish. You rush to the nearest bathroom and try your best not to have a complete meltdown.
"Shit, shit, shit." Unknown to you, they're outside the door, cursing themselves for being so stupid. Maybe the two of you don't get along but this is clearly a sensitive subject for you and they'd never want to genuinely hurt you. Your constant fighting is supposed to be fun! It's jokey. Maybe slightly heated sometimes but nothing you can't get past. Now, though, they're afraid they've completely fucked that up.
After a few minutes, they gently knock on the door.
"(Name)? I'm, I'm sorry." They try. "Um, can I...come in?"
You don't say anything. You want to disappear. You curl up against yourself even harder.
They bite their lip, considering their options right now. They could leave, but then they would be worrying about you the rest of the day and would never stop feeling guilty if something happened to you.
They could stay by the door, but how long would that take? And they would still be worried, not knowing what's happening inside.
They decide they have to check on you, even if you'll hate them for it.
"Hey, I'm, um, coming in, okay?" They call, slowly opening the bathroom door.
You're sat against the wall, near the sink, with your knees tucked in. Your tear-stained face makes their chest ache with guilt.
"Hey..." They approach you cautiously, awkwardly. You've never seen each other like this. They're not sure how to talk to you when it's not an argument. "I'm...sorry. I should have never said that. It was awful and dumb."
They've sat down beside you now. They keep talking, apologising. "I get it if you don't want to talk to me again. I know I, uh, crossed a boundary and stuff. I really am-"
"I'm pathetic." You suddenly say. It's the first thing you've said since running to the bathroom.
"...what?" They're taken aback and a little confused. You should be angry at them right now. You should be shouting and cursing and saying I'll never forgive you and get out but instead you're saying-
"I'm dumb! And so stupid and useless and and-" you're crying now and heaving slightly.
They rush to your side and try to find the right words to say.
"W-what?" They laugh slightly - not in a mocking way. Your words have just caught them off guard.
You finally lift your head from where it was resting, tucked against your knees. You sniff and look at them with tear-filled eyes.
"I am." You say.
"You're not."
"Yes I am!"
They laugh again, more freely now but you maintain your frown and pouted lips.
Before you can speak again, they start to recount all the times you did something good, something right. All the times you knew something before they did and when you beat them again and again. Found loopholes. Devised the perfect strategy. Won against all odds.
"You did all that, didn't you?" They say at last.
"I guess."
"I guess." They mock playfully in that high-pitched tone that's supposed to sound like you, and you can't help but smile. "If you didn't, I might have to check myself into a mental hospital, because I remember it all quite clearly."
"Don't worry. You're right. I...I did do that." You're surprised by how much better you feel already. You're surprised that they have the capability to make you feel anything other than anger. A moment of comfortable silence passes between the two of you before they finally speak again.
"You know, you know it's fine, right?"
"What's fine?"
"Whatever...whatever this is about. I don't care. If it helps you, that's all that matters."
They're referring to your age regression, if they even know what that is. You're glad that they seem to be supportive either way.
"And I won't bring it up ever again, if you don't want me to."
"Thanks." One word isn't nearly enough to express your gratitude but there's not much else you can say or do. You look away, still embarassed by the fact that they know. This secret has felt so big and so dark for years but maybe...maybe it's not such a big deal. They don't seem to think so, anyways. And the relief of someone knowing yet staying makes your chest feel lighter than it ever has been.
They just nod. So simple and casual. Again, you realise they know, they know. But they're still here. And they couldn't care less. It doesn't change a thing.
"I'll get your stuff. You were going to walk home, right?"
"Mhm."
"I'll drive you."
"I-"
"I will. No objections."
They hold a hand out to you to help you stand and encourage you to wash your face in the sink. You let them grab your things. You let them lead you to the car and you let them drive you home, feeling light and small and safe all the way.
