The Fight

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[Trigger Warning: an intense fight wherein Orion's attempt is brought up]


As soon as Jake opened the door, he looked pissed. It crushed me. Without saying a single word, he sidestepped, arm extended, signaling me to come in. Swallowing thickly I scurried in, jumping when he shut the door behind us.

I'm led into the main room. I like Jake's house, I always have; most everything has a black and white aesthetic, accented with wood and glass. He even has one of those cage chairs hanging from a chain, wooden, painted black. It's smart, it's classy, it's contemporary. It's very, very Jake.

Jacob sits on his white leather couch, the couch whose back faces the black marble fireplace. I sit across from him in the matching white armchair, a glass coffee table with black metal legs separating us. Resting on it is a decorative bowl filled with faux fruit. He had the entire thing commissioned by some high-falutin artist whose name I couldn't be bothered to learn.

Behind me rests a bookcase, white and filled to the brim with books. I know without looking most of them are books that I had either given to him, suggested to him, or slipped them in there when he wasn't looking. I once stashed a tentacle hentai movie (don't ask) on the upper shelf, and he didn't even notice it for months. Months.

I look at the TV situated above the fireplace. It's shut off, obviously. Seeing myself in the reflection does little more than make me even more nervous. So instead I look back at Jake.

His hands are splayed against each other, touching at the fingertips. I always thought a frown didn't suit him; this scowl didn't, either. Jake's elbows are on his knees and he's sort of hunched forward. Instead of being in a room with my best friend, I feel like I'm staring at a tiger whose cubs I just killed

I decide to try and start slow. "Um. H-how've you been?"

Jake doesn't reply, eyes alit with rage-filled, smoldering flames.

I clear my throat. "Er, s-sorry I missed your b-birthday."

"Not a big deal," he finally says curtly, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, it was only my last birthday as a twenty-something year old."

I wince, rubbing my sweaty palms against my legs. I can practically feel every second tick by.

"Well," Jake speaks through pursed lips. "You wanted to talk. So, talk."

"I didn't mean it," I say, and even though I've promised myself to not be so weepy, I can't help the wetness forming behind my eyes.

"You said that already," he tells me.

Well, that was rude. I take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He laughs. He laughs. Crossing his arms, Jake leans back and glares at nothing off to the side for a moment. He then whips his head back to me, and when he speaks it's low and rattling. "Every single second I spend with you hurts."

My eyes go huge. "W-what?"

Jake leans forward, snarling at me. "For as long as I've known you, you've been nothing but trouble. Spracking off to teachers, getting arrested, knocking up your girlfriend--"

Goodbye, composure. Now I'm just as angry as he is, if not more. "Fuck you--"

"No!" Jake screams suddenly, leaping to his feet. "You do not get to say 'fuck you' to anyone! You are such a selfish little cunt!"

I laugh cruelly. "If I've been such a selfish little cunt this entire time, then why did you put up with me for so long?"

"I don't know. Insanity?" Jake begins pacing, and I watch him with venom in my eyes. "But I'm happy things turned out like they have. It's like the shade has been pulled off of my eyes."

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