I slam the door to my apartment and march into the bedroom to pack my clothes. There’s no way that I can stay here another night. No way I can stand to be anywhere near Dylan, not now. Not ever. I never want to see him again.

All the way home I tried to calm down. Asked myself if I was being too emotional, if I was overreacting. I want to believe him, really I do. But he’s denying what I saw with my own eyes. As for what happened at the bonfire party, he’s denying that, too. Either I’ve gone insane, or he’s a liar. Neither is a good alternative, but honestly at this point, I’d rather find out that I’m nuts.

They say that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Way to learn the lesson the hard way, Lucy.

Man, I’m an idiot.

I’m still throwing my clothes randomly into my suitcase when I spot my laptop sitting on the bed.

For a second, a thought springs into my mind.

I’m going to look at the link that Dylan sent. I’m going to prove to myself once and for all that I’m not crazy, and that I’m better off without a lying bastard in my life.

When the computer’s booted up, I open his email and click on the link, which takes me to a Facebook page. At first all I see is a mass of photos. People yelling over each other, a big fire burning in the background. But there’s another link in the post, this one to a Youtube video. I click it, wondering if it will show me what I need to see.

A few seconds later I’m watching a younger Dylan in his jersey, having a drink and chatting with his friend Aaron, another blond man about his same size and shape. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. They joke around for a minute until Dylan’s eyes focus on something in the distance.

A moment later, I see myself wandering towards Dylan, a big, dumb smile on my face. Suddenly I want to grab young me and warn her about the chain of events she’s about to set off. Run away, I’d tell her. Fast.

The video is over an hour long, so I fast-forward for a time. Dylan and I have disappeared from the scene, presumably to go off and talk. A little while later he reappears without me, the bright number on his jersey reflecting the glow of the fire. He’s running around like he’s looking for something. But someone—Aaron, his buddy—goes up and talks to him again. His body language is animated, like something’s happened. Dylan looks concerned and nods. After a moment, for some weird reason, he pulls his jersey over his head and hands it over to Aaron. He’s still got a grey shirt on underneath. I suppose Aaron was cold or something, so Dylan helped him out. Could that possibly be what he was talking about when he said he was helping someone?

Oddly though, Aaron whips off his own shirt before putting the jersey on. I can see now that the white t-shirt that he took off has some kind of stain on it. After a few seconds Dylan hands him something else as well, a small item that he’s pulled out of his pocket. Then he says something inaudible and heads off in another direction.

Aaron then goes over to a nearby log, where a young woman is sitting, looking disoriented and a little miserable. He pulls her up, slips an arm around her waist, and the camera follows them for a while. I recognize her now. It’s Chloe, Dylan’s ex. The woman whose face haunts me. Though right now, all I can see is a pitiful creature. A stupid girl who’s had too much to drink.

She leans over and pukes on the sand—gross—and then she and Aaron make their way towards the parking lot.

The cameraman, obviously intrigued or amused by Chloe’s inebriated gait, follows them as they lurch towards a car in the distance. I can barely make them out now because the parking lot isn’t properly lit, but it seems that Aaron is trying to walk a very out-of-it Chloe towards a vehicle. She stops at one point, swaying on her feet, and plants a very drunk kiss on his lips. He helps her get into the car then slips around to the driver’s side.

The car, of course, is Dylan’s red Honda Civic.

The camera pans over to a young woman standing in the distance. I recognize myself, my face forlorn, the firelight illuminating me faintly. From the vantage point where I was standing, I can understand how it is that I thought I was watching Dylan’s form heading towards the car. After all these years I understand everything, in fact.

The jersey.

The ex-girlfriend.

All this time I’ve allowed myself to believe that Dylan did something awful, instead of thinking he could possibly have cared about me. I’ve thought the worst of him when he deserved the best.

The worst of it is that not only did I not trust him, but apparently I didn’t trust myself to be interesting or attractive enough for a man like him.

I thought he treated me like shit, because I somehow believed I was unworthy of his affection. For years I’ve thought that he simply toyed with me that night. Used me, then ran off to be with Chloe.

But all this time it’s been me who screwed up. Instead of returning his calls, instead of asking him what happened, or having the guts to invite him in, I shut him out seven years ago. I was the one who ruined everything.

And I did it all over again today. After telling Dylan I loved him, I didn’t even show him the courtesy of trusting him. I thought the worst again, projected my insecurities onto a man who didn’t deserve it at all.

I’ve seen Renata in action. I know she’s manipulative. I know she’s awful. I saw Dylan holding her arms to her sides, trying to keep her from hurting herself or him. But my screwed-up mind told me that it was because he wanted her.

It seems that I don’t trust myself enough to think I’m worthy of love, even now.

I want to be sick all over again, but this time it’s not because Dylan hurt me.

It’s because I did this to myself.