Track 34 Glitch
AUDREY
The condo was quiet except for the faint rhythm of rain against the windows and the low hum of the dishwasher. I sat cross-legged on the couch, my laptop open but forgotten.
Taylor was stretched out across from me, reading game notes on his tablet, a mug of black coffee balanced on his knee. For a while we just existed in the same space—comfortable, easy—until the question that had been clawing at the back of my throat finally slipped free.
“Can I ask you something?”
He didn’t look up. “You always do.”
“Why were you so cruel to me during our junior year of high school?” My voice was softer than I meant. “Especially that second semester. You were worse than usual, and I’ve never known why.”
He blinked, setting the tablet aside. “I don’t remember being worse.”
“I do.” The words came out like a confession. “I still feel it when I think about it sometimes. I want to know what changed.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me.”
He hesitated—then, too quickly, said, “Maybe it was because my dad was sleeping with your mom.”
My heart stuttered. “What?”
He looked away. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No—don’t do that.” I sat forward, palms flattening on my knees. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s not important.”
“It’s my mother, Taylor.” Heat crawled up my neck. “You think you can just drop something like that and change the subject?”
He exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m saying it’s complicated.”
“No,” I said, standing. “You’re saying you’ve been sitting on a bomb and finally decided to light it.”
He rose too fast, his chair scraping against the floor. “You act like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.” My voice cracked. “How could I have known?”
He laughed once—bitter, hollow. “Because everyone in that town knew except you.”
The sound of the rain filled the silence that followed. My pulse roared in my ears; I could taste copper from biting the inside of my cheek.
“So that’s why you hated me more?” I asked quietly. “Because of them?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you,” he said. “You were the only friend I had.”
“No,” I whispered. “You just needed someone to hate.”
“Audrey—”
“Taylor—”
“I meant what I said about you being my only real friend,” he said, voice rough. “And I know I was yours. I didn’t want to throw that away.”
My throat burned. “We threw it away two years ago. We weren’t even on track to speak again before this program.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours.” I grabbed my jacket from the back of the couch, the fabric shaking in my hands. “I need to breathe. Don’t fucking follow me.”
The door slammed behind me, but his voice still echoed in my head long after I hit the stairwell—low, breaking, and full of every truth I hadn’t been ready to hear.