Different colored minds

Are you my friend?

JOE POV

"I'm not going to the party," I'm laying on my bed, Steven sitting in the gaming chair by my desk.

"Even if you got asked to go by a girl?" He spins around in the chair. I look over at him, my eyebrows creased.

"Steven, what did you do?" I can already feel waves of dread washing over me.

"Nothing, just curious," he sits back in the chair and stuffs his hands behind his head with a smirk. There's a sense of foreboding still building in my chest.

"Steven, I'm not going,"

"Oh come on Joe, no one else will be there worth seeing,"

"So why are you going?" I chuckle.

"I'm the captain! I have to go! Can you imagine if I didn't," there's a silence where our eyes burn into each other.

"Come on dude, you're my best friend, I don't want to go without you," I take a deep breath and look at him again.

"Alright, if a girl asks me to go, I'll go... as long as it's not Aliana," Steven sits up straight in his chair.

"What's up with that?"

"Steven, Aliana and I are never getting back together," I can't handle that. Not in that place. Not with throbbing music, drunk footsteps, and flashing lights. My prosthetic comes in next week so for now I'm still in a wheel chair.

Steven is still silent.

"Why not?" He asks. I don't want to think about this. Not on top of everything else. I've got enough on my plate without Steven asking me why my ex and I split.

"Let's not talk about this," my fists clench.

"Joe, what's up with you? Why are you being like this?" Steven looks severe. He looks angry. But not with hot anger, with cold anger. It's not like my father's at all, there's a burn right behind his eye balls. He won't tell me what's wrong. He'll resent me for it though.

"What do you mean why am I being like this?"

"You and I always go to parties, we always find girls, and we always do things together. Why are you cutting me out?"

"I'm not cutting you out!" My rage is not cold like his. It's red. It's explosive. And it's terrifyingly uncontrollable once I unleash it. This is not the time nor the place but once I snap, there's no going back.

"Maybe for you,"

"What? That doesn't even make sense. You see me all the time, don't you?" And right now I can feel heat boiling in my veins. It's headed towards my brain. He makes me so angry. On top of everything else, he's making me angry.

"Where's my best friend?" He continues angrily. He sounds heart broken.

"What is that supposed to mean? Im right here idiot!" I'm mad. What is he doing? What is he saying? What does he mean? We've been best friends since we were in diapers. We've changed hobbies hundreds of times. Why does he even care about this one? Why does any of this make me not me? Why is he doing this to me? Why now?

He's silent again. His eyes are saying you've hurt me. What now?

"I'm gotta go," Steven slowly stands up, letting the chair squeak below him. It's better that he goes now. I need to clear my head. I need to cool down.

I hear the door closing behind him. He's just in this friendship for himself. For what he can get out of me. Not once has he thought about me. My needs. I don't even know anymore. It's been enough trying to adjust to not having a leg. I don't have time to think about the social consequences of going or not going to a stupid party. Why can't he see that? Why can't he understand that I'm going through enough as it is? Why does he think I'll just be better?

He doesn't wake up in the middle of the night with pain in a foot he doesn't have anymore. He doesn't have a patch of skin that used to be his calf attached to his knee. He doesn't have to go to bed at night with dreams of having his bones pulverized. He doesn't have to deal with any of this so how hard could this be for him? He doesn't have to maneuver through a hallway. He doesn't have to deal with stairs. Or inconsiderate people. With doors that are inaccessible. He doesn't have to deal with humanity's ignorance. It's so easy for him. Why is he doing this to me? Why can't he just think through what he's doing? Why can't he just think about my needs for a second?

I roll over so my face is in the pillow. I'll take a nap. That has to be able to help.

"Joseph," I bolt upright in my bed. My dad is standing in the doorway. "The first football game is this Friday, so why on earth are you sitting in bed right now?"

"I don't know," My dad's eyebrows raise.

"Why haven't you been practicing?" His hands are on his hips.

"I c..."

"Is it because they gave the captain position to Steven because you're a cripple now?" My fist clenches.

"He didn't..." I start.

"So you're telling me you gave it to him?" He looks appalled.

"I'm never playing football again dad."

"But the doctor says since it's below the knee you could still play—"

"What do you mean play dad? Did you forget I don't have a leg?"

"Don't you dare use that tone with me! Listen Jonathan, I have let you mope and be a selfish freeloader for long enough. It's time you get up off your lazy ass and do something. Your prosthetic comes next week, you better be back on the team by then or you'll regret it for the rest of the time you live under my roof. I pay for every minute you sit on your sorry ass and feel bad for yourself. You have to earn your place here, so pick up the slack!"

His words are cold and hard, but I know they're true. I sit here and mope and slack. But that just makes me more angry. This all just makes me more angry. And there's no way out. Except—but I can't go back to football anymore. And I can't get away. I'm trapped here listening to how much of a failure I am. How much of a no good wash up I've become. How disappointing I am. It's unsolicited. Unappreciated. And stupid.
"Thanks dad, I'll think about it," I say.
"You'll think about it? You'll think about it?"
"Dad! What will it take you to realize I'm never going to meet your expectations? I'm always going to be a failure!"
"Then why are you living in this house?!" His voice is rising. There's a lump in my throat.
"Tell me, oh failure who will never meet my expectations, what can you do? Since you haven't been doing the dishes, mowing the lawn, sweeping, mopping, or contributing. Your mom has been telling me I should go easy on you, damn it. But I didn't think you'd end up being some lazy loach."
"Alright dad, I get it. I'm sorry," I state.
"Sorry for What?"
Im not sorry for anything, I just said it to get him off my back. So now what do I say?
"Sorry for being a latch,"
"And not staying on the team, get your act together or there will be consequences," he adds. I clench my fists as he steps out of the room. He can just walk away. He will just leave this behind. He'll never apologize for any of it. He just spews, walks away, and leaves me with the baggage.