Hannah

"Hi."

Hannah slid into the seat across from him, dropping her bag
down on the cheap orange plastic booth that made an odd
squeaking noise as her legs rubbed against it. She clasped
and unclasped her hands in her lap underneath the table,
willing them to stop shaking. Everything in the diner seemed
ridiculously bright to her, as though she was in a movie or
a play and there were spotlights shining on her,
exaggerating her every last move. If only she was acting. If
only this wasn't very real.

She had requested this meeting, unable to allow things to
end without some kind of chance to explain the inexplicable.
Unable to let go without a fight. She knew she had fucked
up. She knew it was her fault. She knew there was no way to
turn back the clock, to change what had already happened,
what she had already done. She knew it was in his hands,
whether or not to forgive her.

And deep down she knew she was fighting a losing battle. He
was already gone. He had already left. They could never go
back to before. Before she had made decisions that now made
no rational sense to her. But she couldn't help but think
that maybe if she just had the opportunity to make him see
her perspective, to at least know what she had been thinking
at the time...maybe he would understand. Maybe he would
change his mind. Maybe he could forgive her.

"Coffee?" the young waitress with bright pink hair asked,
snapping her gum and tapping her feet to music only she
could hear.

"Please," she answered, biting the side of her mouth until
it bled. She didn't feel the pain, unfortunate because she
had only been trying to make sure she was still alive, not
taste the salty blood in her mouth. It made her feel
nauseous.

"You?" the waitress asked him, still snapping her gum and
tapping her foot. Hannah wondered what it was she could hear
that the rest of them could not. From her peripheral vision
she saw him nod, but he did not speak.

"Be right back with your coffee."

She finally willed herself to look up, and found him staring
back at her with cold eyes. Dead eyes. His hat was pulled
low on his forehead; had she not been substantially shorter
than he, she wouldn't have been able to see his eyes at all.
Her eyes only met his for a split-second. It was too much to
find such animosity peering back at her from eyes that used
to meet hers with such care and compassion.

She shook her hands out underneath the table. It was up to
her to speak, obviously, and she tried desperately to think
of something appropriate to say, searching for a way to
begin a conversation that she knew had a very strong chance
of being their last. What do you say when you know your time
is running out?

"How are you?" she finally asked in almost a whisper,
staring down at her shaking hands. It was a stupid question,
under the circumstances.

The waitress' voice made her jump.

"Y'all ready to order?" she asked, slamming two cups of
coffee and tossing a handful of creamers in the middle of
the table.

"I'm fine," he said under his breath, speaking for the first
time since she had sat down. The sound of his voice made her
eyes sting. She wasn't sure how she would live, never
hearing that voice again.

"What about you?" the waitress said, directing her attention
towards Hannah. "You sick? You look awful pale," she said,
leaning down to peer into her face.

"No, no. No, I'm fine. Coffee is fine." The waitress stared
at her for a second, her eyes squinting as though she was
not sure she would accept her answer, but then she shrugged
and walked away.

"What do you want, Hannah?" Josh asked, sipping the black
coffee. His tone was unfeeling, uncaring, and harsh. As
though he had a million other places he needed to be and he
was squeezing in a nuisance. Come to think of it, that was
more than likely true, she thought.

"I...I want the chance to explain...to tell you why...to at
least explain that..." with each phrase she watched his eyes
widen slightly, until he sat with an incredulous look on his
face and she had forgotten what she had been trying to say
in the first place.

"Tell me what? Tell me why you are a liar? I don't care to
know why you are a liar, Hannah. I don't think you deserve
the chance to explain anything."

"Please, Josh. Please, you at least owe me..."

"Owe you? OWE you, Hannah? I don't OWE you jack-shit."

"I didn't mean it that way..." she paused, trying to
pinpoint what was getting under her skin and making her feel
a chill. It hit her suddenly. "Please stop saying my name
like that."

"Like what?"

"You...you never call me...Hannah."

He laughed. He laughed as though it was the funniest thing
he had ever heard in his entire life. He laughed as though
she was more pathetic and stupid than anyone he had ever met
before. She felt her eyes stinging again, watching him laugh
at her.

A single tear slipped from her eye. "Please..." she
whispered, choking back tears. "Please don't laugh at me,
Josh."

He didn't stop.

"Please stop laughing at me."

He wiped his face, as he stopped laughing, his eyes turning
angry.

"You don't have the right to ask anything of me. Not even
how I am. Don't ask me not to laugh at you. You're
pathetic," he practically spit venom.

She bit her cheek again in the same place that had already
been bleeding.

"Please don't hate me, Josh."

"Hate? Hate you? Hannah, do you know what the opposite of
love is? It's not hate. No, no, no. See, hate requires
emotion, feeling, passion even. Hate requires energy. I
don't hate you. The opposite of love is indifference. I
don't even CARE about you. I don't have any emotion,
feeling, and sure as hell no passion towards you. I don't
have any energy to waste on you. As far as I'm concerned,
when I get up and walk away in a few minutes, you will cease
to exist."

She couldn't help it. She was crying now, openly, tears
slipping down her cheeks one by one by one. She didn't know
how much more she could take. And at the same time, it was
welcome. She wanted to feel his anger, feel the searing pain
she so deserved.

He continued on, ignoring her tears. "You lied. You lied to
me and you lied about me. You told my best friends that we
were sleeping together. As if I would touch you with a
10-foot pole, Hannah. You destroyed my relationship with
Tilda for your own amusement. You made everyone believe that
something was going on between us, and just in case you were
or are at all confused, there was never anything between us.
Nothing. And I will make sure that everyone knows you are
nothing but a pathetic liar, too."

"I never meant to hurt you, Josh. I never meant to break you
and Tilda up. I didn't. You don't understand..." and even as
she said it, she realized she didn't understand either. She
had just felt so worthless, like such a loser, and she
thought that maybe if people thought she was good enough for
Josh, they wouldn't think she was such a loser anymore.

"I do understand, Hannah. You're insane. That's all there is
to understand, isn't it? You are one fucked up little girl,
with one fucked up head. And to think there was a time..."
she watched as he turned abruptly and stared out the window.


"Josh, I'm sorry. I should have just told you, a long time
ago. But I knew...I knew I would never be good enough for
you. I knew you would never look at me like that. I mean,
obviously I would never be...be...good enough...."

"Obviously," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. As
though he was mocking her.





Josh

"Hi."

He had seen her pull up. She had driven Kristi's car, which
answered at least one of his questions. He wondered whose
car she would be driving. It sure as hell wouldn't be
Tilda's - Banna usually bummed Tilda's car, but not anymore.
Tilda would never speak to her again. He had just left Tilda
to come meet Banna at the diner. As much as he wanted to not
care, he did care. He cared because he was hurt. And he was
hurt because he cared. A person only has the power to hurt
you if you care. He cared a lot. It occurred to him that he
shouldn't think of her as Banna anymore. It had been a
pet-name for someone he had cared about, even loved, very
deeply. She was Hannah now.

He watched her walk in, pulling her long blonde hair up into
a ponytail. She wore long gray drawstring pants and a
long-sleeve purple tee-shirt. He could tell she was
petrified - even from a distance he could see that she was
shaking. It was hard to shake off the feeling that he wanted
to ask her what was wrong, see how he could help. He had to
remind himself of what she had done. But when he saw
her...it was hard to forget what she had meant to him. It
was all just very hard.

Lance had been the one who first blew her cover. He had made
some comment one night after they had all been drinking
about his 'secret rendezvous' and Josh had shrugged it off,
not sure if maybe he was more drunk than he knew. But Justin
had confirmed his suspicions. It was hard to remember now -
how all of the pieces fell together. But it had suddenly
made sense. What he couldn't figure out though, was if
Hannah had wanted people to think something was going on
between them, why she had never even given him the
indication she was interested? She had always talked about
other guys with him, asked his advice on relationships - she
had even been the one who practically pushed him and Tilda
together.

"Coffee?" the young waitress who had been flirting with him
all night asked.

"Please," she said. He hardly recognized her voice, it was
so small. He watched her wince in pain and then purse her
lips as though she had just bit into the inside of her
cheek. For a moment, he could see the bigger picture. He
could sort of put it all together well enough to know and
understand - at least on some level, if not a rational one,
why she had done it. She had spent her life trying to make
up for all of the ways her father had made her feel
inadequate and wrong. Hannah had never known how vibrant,
beautiful or amazing she was. She was always going a mile a
minute trying to prove herself, and the truth was, she had
nothing to prove. She always felt inadequate, always felt
worthless, always felt unloved. And at the same time, she
hid it with fake confidence and the ability to make anyone
and everyone want to be around her. And still, it was never
enough. Why she had made up lies about him, her best friend
of all people, was what baffled him. Had she just
asked...just told him....

"You?" the waitress asked him, touching him slightly on the
shoulder. Lost in thought, he only nodded. But the waitress
had interrupted his world enough to shatter the
understanding. As hard as he tried, he just couldn't see
past the fact that she had lied. His best friend, the girl
he had trusted more than anyone else, was nothing but a
liar. He could almost feel his heart harden.

"Be right back with your coffee."

He watched her, anger growing. She hadn't even bothered to
look him in the eyes yet. He wondered if she even would. As
though she had heard his thoughts, she suddenly glanced up,
and then away again. As soon as he saw those brown eyes, he
felt his heart melt a little bit, but she had already looked
away. Was he really unable to see past this? Did he really
have to give her up? Was there any way they could get though
it? There was part of him that wanted nothing more than to
say it didn't matter, that they could just forget any of
this had happened and move on. But the bigger part of him
knew he wouldn't be able to do it.

"How are you?"

There was so much fear in her voice it made him cringe. And
it hit him suddenly that he had to make a clean break. There
could be no halfway. He had to learn not to care about her.


"Y'all ready to order?" the waitress asked, touching him on
the shoulder again.

"I'm fine."

"What about you? You sick? You look awful pale," it took him
a second to realize she was talking to Hannah and not him.

"No, no. No, I'm fine. Coffee is fine."


He listened to her and realized he couldn't ever hear her
voice again and not feel hurt and betrayed.

He sipped his coffee, wondering exactly how the next half an
hour would play out.

"What do you want, Hannah?"

"I...I want the chance to explain...to tell you why...to at
least explain that..." As she spoke he felt nothing but
anger.

"Tell me what? Tell me why you are a liar? I don't care to
know why you are a liar, Hannah. I don't think you deserve
the chance to explain anything." It felt so odd to call her
Hannah. He hadn't called her Hannah in at least three years.
She had become 'Banna' one night as they sat up talking
until the wee-hours of the morning, and it had stuck.

"Please, Josh. Please, you at least owe me..."

"Owe you? OWE you, Hannah? I don't OWE you jack-shit." It
was true, he didn't owe her anything. He had always been
honest with her, he had always been there for her, he had
always done everything he could think of to be a friend to
her, and she had gone and lied.

"I didn't mean it that way...Please stop saying my name like
that."

He knew it would hurt her, and that had been partially his
motive. "Like what?"

"You...you never call me...Hannah."

He had to laugh. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because he
had so many different emotions beating at the back of his
neck that he just lost track of what exactly there was to
do, so he laughed. And for some reason, seeing her start to
cry made him laugh even harder.

"Please..." she whispered, and he could tell she was choking
back tears. "Please don't laugh at me, Josh. Please stop
laughing at me."

He felt the temporary lack of judgement pass, the confusion,
the hurt, the pain - he felt it all disappear. He was
nothing but angry, and he went with it.

"You don't have the right to ask anything of me. Not even
how I am. Don't ask me not to laugh at you. You're
pathetic."

"Please don't hate me, Josh."

This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. It wasn't
true, not yet, but he could make it true he thought. He
would have to. He would have to stop caring about her, and
sometimes the best way to make something true was to say it
out loud.

"Hate? Hate you? Hannah, do you know what the opposite of
love is? It's not hate. No, no, no. See, hate requires
emotion, feeling, passion even. Hate requires energy. I
don't hate you. The opposite of love is indifference. I
don't even CARE about you. I don't have any emotion,
feeling, and sure as hell no passion towards you. I don't
have any energy to waste on you. As far as I'm concerned,
when I get up and walk away in a few minutes, you will cease
to exist."

There was a time when he would have gone over to her side of
the booth when she cried like that, held her in his arms,
and tell her it was going to be okay. A small part of him
still felt that impulse. But not because it was right or
because he even so much wanted to. Old habits die hard.

He continued on, ignoring her tears. "You lied. You lied to
me and you lied about me. You told my best friends that we
were sleeping together. As if I would touch you with a
10-foot pole, Hannah. You destroyed my relationship with
Tilda for your own amusement. You made everyone believe that
something was going on between us, and just in case you were
or are at all confused, there was never anything between us.
Nothing. And I will make sure that everyone knows you are
nothing but a pathetic liar, too."

"I never meant to hurt you, Josh. I never meant to break you
and Tilda up. I didn't. You don't understand..."

"I do understand, Hannah. You're insane. That's all there is
to understand, isn't it? You are one fucked up little girl,
with one fucked up head. And to think there was a time..."
It was halfway out his mouth before he stopped himself. And
it wasn't premeditated, and it wasn't until he almost said
it that he even realized it. There had been a time when he
had been falling for her. Back in the beginning. He had
liked her. Suddenly he remembered. He had really, really
liked her. If she had just let on how she felt, things would
have been so very different. Who knew where they would be
sitting right now? Not at the diner having the conversation
they were having, that was for sure.

"Josh, I'm sorry. I should have just told you, a long time
ago. But I knew...I knew I would never be good enough for
you. I knew you would never look at me like that. I mean,
obviously I would never be...be...good enough...."

"Obviously," he repeated, not wanting to admit just how
wrong she was.