"Spencer, I think we should have a talk."

"If someone ever does something to break your trust, don’t let them back in, don’t. Once a liar, always a liar."

You don’t know why, but out of all the advice your mother gave you, this is what sticks with you. Those simple words; once a liar, always a liar. And you believe it; you’ve come to learn the truth in her words.

But you don’t want to think about that now; you want… you need to think about other things. You were never close to your father, that doesn’t bother you. You had plenty of other people in your life.

For instance Trent. Yes, you were nine years older than him, but in some way the two of you always connected to each other. As time passed you grew closer, you always made time to play with him, no matter what was going on in your life, well you used to at least. You cherish those moments with your brother; the relationship is no longer the same.

You like to blame that fact on time and school, but you know you’re really the one to blame. When you were twenty-two he was thirteen. You were too busy with your college friends to give him the time of day.

It doesn‘t matter now, your just glad you were close at some point, glad you had him during your youth.

High School… you loved it, it was a great time for you. You were comfortable in your sexuality then, just as you are now. You discovered a lot of things about yourself in that time, and of course that’s where you met her.

It happened during Sophomore year, the two of you were lab partners, and by chance the class happened to be a double period, it was inevitable that you would grow close.

"What’s going on in that head of yours?"

You turn to the beautiful Latina sitting next to you. She’s giving you that look, you know she wants you. You wish you could want her, but you don’t, you can’t be with anyone that isn’t the girl you fell in love with in high school.

"Nothing really."

She gives you a sad look before speaking.

"We’ve been friends for a long time."

"Yeah."

You know where this conversation is going.

"Why can’t you tell me about her?"

Her voice is small; she’s trying not to push you. She’s thoughtful, caring, beautiful, she even puts up with your bullshit on a daily basis.

Boy, you wish you could be with her.

"Jess, Jess, Jess." You say.

"Spence, Spence, Spence.” She says.

You don’t mind that she mocks you.

"You want to know about her."

A nod is her response. By the look on her face, you think she expects you to close yourself off, but you don’t. You trust her enough, and you’re finally ready, ready to spill all the details she craves.

"What do you want to know?"