Old Friend

o7

Telling myself to be calm would be the biggest like of the century.

Cameron and I were both sitting down on my bed, with the blanket over our legs to keep us from the cold. We also had two chocolate croissants that I love and have an unhealthy obsession on right by our side to munch on. He gave it to me because I evidently puked my uneaten dinner tonight and he didn't want me to sleep with an empty stomach.

It was sweet and elephants were already marching at the pit of my stomach but worry is already filling it up at the same time my tummy turned into a zoo. "You're just his best friend to his eyes," I kept reminding myself.

Should I tell him? The thing is, I don't want to face rejection from him. I know it sounds childish, but rejection is the most painful thing ever, one of the few reasons why breaking your heart is something you don't want to feel. It makes us angry, sad, hurt, and confused at the same time. It doesn't sound much, but when it happens to you, it does.

And as humans, we have this tendency to feel insecure and anxious about everything and anything when this happens. We feel hopeless, like everything is falling to the ground because of one thing.

One mistake. One confession.

Perhaps I could tell him on another day. Not now. I'm not ready. I'm sure he's going to understand this.

He's my best friend for years, I'm positive he will.

The silence was unbearable because so silent that you could hear them chatting and laughing downstairs. I looked around and realized that both of us were so engrossed and immersed with our thoughts that no one bothered to speak up. I suppose I'm not the only one who has a secret in mind.

"You know you could tell me everything." He mumbled silently, breaking the silence while biting his lip. Cam has a huge habit where he either bites his lips or his right eye twitches when he's nervous. Any of the two.

"I-I know, it's just really hard to open up about it right now." I confessed.

He nods in agreement to what I said and gave me an understanding look, but didn't say anything in regards to it. I plastered on a genuine smile this time and asked him, "So, what's your secret?" before I took a big bite of the pastry in my hands.

When he didn't respond, I pouted and gave him the puppy dog look. He gave me a cheeky smile in return and I scowled at him. In my attempt to persuade him to tell me, I fell from my bed and landed on my butt with a loud "oomph!", because he stole my precious bread from me.

And I think everyone knows not to mess with my food.

I gasped. "Cameron Elliot Francisco Burgos, te dio! Hijo de puta! (You did not, Son of a bitch!)" I screamed and lunged for him. You could say he was practically mortified at this point because you'd know when I'm really mad when I start cussing you out in Spanish.

That's one of the pros of being a bilingual, all thanks to my lovely grandmother for teaching me when I was younger. Imagine this: you see a 70-year-old grandmother teaching a 9-year-old some curse words in Spanish. Now that'd be a sight to see.

When I reached my hand out to smack him, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets because he knew what I meant, because he, himself, is half Spanish. And plus, what better way to speak Spanish when you're just going to cuss everyone out and they won't even know a thing?

Plus, puta (bitch/whore) sounded cooler than bitch.

"Lo siento! Lo siento! (I'm sorry! I'm sorry!)" He repeated twice, but refrained and pulled my hand back when I hear him.

I smirked triumphantly and stuck my tongue out at him. "You're such a child." He muttered, mainly to himself, but sent me an apologizing look when he caught my glare.