He had signed off on the note. "Love you two. --Trevor"
Trevor's mom had been dead for years. And he had a shit relationship with his dad. So 'the two' in the note couldn't be his parents. It had to be two of us. But there was three of us, so who was the odd one out.
This was the question in the room Thursday. Imogen, Georgie, and I were huddled in the window-less room on the second story, smoking a bowl. I was doing my best acting perplexed and curious. I could tell by the way Georgie and Imogen spoke to each other that they genuinely had no idea. To them, Trevor and I had still been close friends up until his final hour.
Until this moment I had feared being found out. More than a few times Imogen and Georgie had turned up in my nightmares, ominously saying things like "we know you're the reason." But now that Trevor was officially gone, and I was assured that only I knew the truth, it felt incredibly lonely. In some dark, sick manner I wished they knew. I could feel my lips mouthing the words. I dreamed about telling them. I dreamed that...
"Hey, Ivan. Are you going to hit that or what?" Georgie said.
