He turned to ask me, voice accusing and eyes holding a sense of betrayal.  "Did you tell all the rest of them? About my secret?" His voice never wavered, as if not even hesitating to accuse me (because I was the first person he ever told this secret about). Hurt washed over my chest, and it pressed down, slowly crushing my heart somehow. I was surprised not to have teared up a little, but nevertheless, it was painful to be accused by the person you trust the most.

"No, I didn't," I snapped, rightfully so, offended from his accusation. "I defended you from them, and told you not to tell them, or else they'd tell everyone else in class. Why are you even accusing me when you knew the risks all along?"

I stared up at him, expecting an apology for his accusation, or maybe even a bit of embarrassment or shame. But he narrowed his eyes even more, voice unconvinced and nonchalant, that it nearly made me flinch. "Yeah, right."

And he turned around and didn't look back. And the moment he did, I knew he would never love me, the same way I loved him; with all my heart and soul, that even if he hurt me, I still forgive him to this day, for not trusting me back and loving me the same way he does a stranger.

The same way I wipe away tears to help him gain the stranger he wanted.

I forgive him for leaving me behind.