Their whsipers followed me through the halls. Shrouded me in a veil of shame. Cut across my skin like small knives leaving small trails of self-deprecation in their wake. And the worst part was that I didn’t know whether or not I was the villain they painted me out to be. I tried to deny it, bury the doubt deep inside. But somehow, the unwelcome thoughts always seem to be the ones constantly invading my mind.

I’d never claimed to be a saint, but I’d never been a devil either. I was comfortably in the expansive grey area between the two, until I wasn’t. That’s what no one tells you about the grey area: It only takes one mistep to fall down into the inky darkness.

I hadn’t realized what a precarious situation I was in. The consequences my actions would bring about. The hearts I would break. Mine and his. I would give anything if only I could go back and fix it. Fix everything. Erase the kiss that never should’ve been. And create the kiss that would’ve been.

But it was far too late. I knew it. The whole school knew it. Everyone knew it. Because if there’s one thing teenagers love to do, it’s spread rumors.