Calliope simply nodded at me, her eyes beseeching me to understand that she needed a little space to deal with the finality of her relationship with Erica. I walked back to the group, and when I arrived they, thankfully, took my attention off the situation at hand. I think they knew back then how into Calliope I was but they never brought it up. At least not until we actually got together.

By the time Callie returned to the group it was late, her face was tear streaked, despite her obvious attempt to dry the remnants of what was now the end of her relationship. Her normally bright chocolate eyes were sullen and disheveled and I felt guilty. I felt selfish and I realized that despite my deep-seeded romantic internalized feelings for this girl, our friendship would ultimately come first. Always. She came over to where I was sitting, not saying a word, she sat down next me and leaned her jet black silky hair against my shoulder and began to play with the hand that was resting on my jean-clad thigh. No one said anything, continuing with their conversations but I saw Addison trying to catch my attention as if to check to make sure Callie was alright. I didn’t look up though.

I didn’t ask her if she was OK or anything stupid like that, it was obvious she wasn’t. Instead I turned my head into the side of her hair and gently whispered so only she could hear, ”Come on, I’ll take you home”. To anyone it would look like we were a couple but I suppose that’s what most of our interactions looked like to others.

She didn’t say anything else but she didn’t let go of my hand when I got up and told the group we were heading home. Addison told Callie to call her when she got home, Calliope simply nodded in agreement. She obviously really didn’t want to talk about it, I suppose she was exhausted, she sure looked it. But still utterly gorgeous.

The whole journey back to her lavish house in Yarrow Point, Callie gazed out the window, morbid silence filling the car. I stopped outside of the magnificently tasteful iron-wrought gates of her expansively scenic house – her parents and Addison’s obviously sharing the same tax bracket – that prevented the reality of Seattle from entering the upper class world, to which the Torres family were well accustomed to.
She didn’t make a move to get out of the car and I was in no hurry to rid myself of her presence, especially when she was as upset as she seemed. After an insignificant period of time, the silence extended into comfort, and at that moment she spoke.