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When I was in school, I was just 19, living a life soaked in alcohol and drugs. Not my finest hour. My best friend, around 18, was dating this guy named Steve, 24. He had this knack for flirting with me, and honestly, the age gap weirded me out. Plus, we were both deep into the party scene.

As my best friend went her way, Steve’s calls kept coming. One day, temptation got the better of me. He mentioned having coke, and I caved. We ended up in this whirlwind of drugs and sex. I mean, he looked like that iconic 80s Bieber pic, and I was weak.

This went on for a few months. We’d meet up, dive into drugs, and well, you know the rest. We were like two addicts caught in this messed-up loop.

Then, surprise, I found myself pregnant. Yep, Steve’s baby. But abortion became the answer, a secret I kept locked away.

Eventually, I pulled the brakes. It was just too bizarre. I wrestled with my demons for a bit, and then things changed. Two years later, my best friend reconnected with Steve, now sober. Panic gripped me, fearing he’d spill our secret. When they visited, he whispered that it was best to keep it buried. I agreed, of course.

Time moved on. They got married, fought cancer, embraced sobriety. I don’t see them much. But there’s at all times that unspoken tension between me and Steve. Not the kind you’re thinking, more like a shared regret.

NSFW: yes

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