It only takes two seconds after I wake up for my headache to kick in and for the memories of last night to make me freak out.

I know I said I should be getting drunk more often, but that experience has taught me that I really shouldn't. All it took were a few (okay, many) drinks to turn me into a complete different person that almost had sex with a stranger.

Not my proudest moment.

At all.

Madison notices that I've woken up from across the room, and laughs before telling me, "we both sure had a good time last night."

I faintly remember being around her for part of the night before we made our separate ways to new people and spaces. I grab my phone and click through the stories that her and numerous others have posted, some that include videos of me in the distant background enjoying the party and the company.

"Did I embarrass myself?" I ask her.

"No, you might have just saved your reputation actually. You almost slept with Carolina though, and she's straight and dating her boyfriend. . . So he's not too happy about that. But otherwise, you're the talk of the town right now."

That's not what I wanted.

At all.

Although I do find myself resisting the slight urge to giggle at that mention about the girl named Carolina. I don't know a lot about what happened last night, but I do remember that the way she acted is not how a straight girl would have acted. But, it could also be the alcohol. It can make you do crazy things.

I'm not too happy about being the one that a girl used to cheat on her current relationship with though, but I also didn't know. I can't do much to change that. It was one of the few things that was never in my control.

Madison later tells me that she has to leave for a date with her new boyfriend that I haven't met, and I'm left alone in my dorm.

My headache is a gift from that party that's still present. My roommate has mastered the ability to handle hungover reactions, and I envy her for that. I know that there's something I can do that might distract me though.

I look through my contact list again for what feels like the millionth time, and I know that this is in my control. Looking at Delilah's name, I can decide when to hit "call." But will I do it?

Maybe.

It's just complicated. Feelings overcomplicate everything, or it might just be me being me. I don't know a single damn thing about this world. It's been 4 years, and I still know nothing. But, time isn't real. Nothing is.

Delilah easily made her way back into my life like not even a second had passed. Last night proved that I might go insane if I don't try to get some closure to whatever her story is, so my fingers quickly type out a message to her and send it before my mind can fully catch up. Before I know it, I see her own grey response come in, "are you ready? Or do you feel like you have to be ready?"

There's not much of a difference there. I tell her to stop being ridiculous and give me an explanation. She then makes the decision to call me herself rather than participate in some silly exchange of texts, and I clear my throat before saying, "hello?"

"I'm sorry about what happened," she tells me.

She could be apologizing for anything, but I know she's referring to that fateful day four years ago when she moved away. Her family somehow moved all of their belongings in the span of 24 hours, and I was met with the sight of a blank canvas when I had gone by to see her later at night.

14 year old me thought I had dreamt the sight and it wasn't real. I had tried to pinch myself multiple times and was left with tiny red marks on my arms rather than my dark bedroom. The shock and confusion as I went around her house and found open windows with nothing inside will never truly be described. So many scenarios went through my head about what could have happened, but I ran when a police officer tried to confront me after a neighbor had reported seeing a medium-sized stranger lurking outside a vacant home.

I recall spending the next few days asking everyone about the great mystery and conducting my own investigations in person and online to search for my desired answers. I just couldn't understand why she hadn't left a phone number. She didn't give me any warning signs.

She was free and lovely the last day I had seen her at school all those years ago. It was on a Friday right before a long weekend and after I had told her I would swing by her home on Saturday, she had eagerly accepted. Her smile was wide and proud that day.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I'm able to her hear let out a sigh before she states, "it was better that way. Long distance friendships are hard."

Somehow, the answer feels fake.

"Not even a phone number?" I ask, letting out a sarcastic laugh before saying, "it's not like technology didn't exist four years ago."

"It was better for the friendship to end on my terms than let it face a slow death."

"And what about my terms? Did you even think about what I would have wanted?

Yet somehow, I can understand the source of some of her fears. After she had left, I had moved on with other friendships but some were toxic. Already dead friendships back then could have been carried away a lot sooner than they were.

But Delilah and I. . . We were different. Our friendship was thriving, at least I had thought so. We were in it for life. It wasn't a friendship that would expire by the time the end of high school came knocking on our doors.

We were really something.

At least I thought we were.

"We were only 14," she tells me, preparing to dismiss my highly established beliefs of our past together, "it was just a childhood friendship."

"Are you serious? All the sleepovers and long years spent together? That's it? I don't believe that you would basically say our friendship was nothing for you."

"Sorry," she says.

That's all she can dare say to me. Why is she doing this?

"If it was just a childish friendship then you wouldn't have given me your number now. Listen— I don't know why you're trying to act like it was nothing but it clearly was something since we're talking right now. We were best friends, and I don't get why you're telling me all these conflicting things that don't match with the past."

"I know — I just — I think it's easier to diminish it than see it for what it truly was, because it was so hard to forget about our friendship. But you're right. One moment I'm saying one thing and the next second I'm saying something completely different."

The Delilah I knew back then rarely took accountability for things like this, so I appreciate it. I ask her why she barely showed up now, and she admits, "After I saw you hanging out at the diner, I asked around and the owner said you were a student at a university here. It's all due to chance and luck. If you hadn't moved here. . . The event of four years ago would have been our permanent ending."

I tell her, "well it felt like a permanent ending for the past four years."

She sighs once again, and says, "we're not going to get anywhere if we keep debating about that. My question is do you want to be friends again? Maybe work our way back up to best friends?"

I fear that if we become friends again, I'll fall for her all over again. My feelings for her still linger here and there, and this will only cement them into place. But this is what I've always wanted. It's what I begged for as a 14 year old, and it's what I've constantly wondered about ever since she moved across the country.

A second chance at a friendship with the girl who both drove me insane and made me love her. The one I could never get my mind off of. She was, and still is, so special to me.

I can't deny that and I can't refuse the opportunity to be around her again, which is why I tell her, "yes, I want to be friends with you."

14 year old me might come out again in the shadows to remind me of how strong and devastating a crush can be. I might already be feeling the romantic thoughts come into my mind, I won't admit or deny anything about that.

And our call ends up with us talking about the gap of the last four years in our prized relationship.