May Kill Me

Two

"Ugh, he's such an asshole. I bet the only reason he got so pissed about it was because you beat him to the whole break-up thing." Rory put another coat of nail polish on before placing it under the small USB-powered UV light.

She didn't know about the slap or the wrist grab: I kept mum about the former and made sure to wear an oversized long-sleeved sweater to hide the latter.

All Rory knew — all I told her — was that Jonathan got upset and accused me of cheating on him.

I didn't want to divulge anything because I felt ashamed.

What kind of girl lets her boyfriend slap her?

When I was crying in the parking lot, sobbing into the steering wheel, I was crying from the shock.

I was sobbing hysterically because I was slapped in the first place.

As the burning sensation in my cheek was ebbing away, the shock was turning into shame.

Sitting in Rory's pristine, white-furniture bedroom with her Spotify playlist softly emitting low-key music, all I could do was feeb. Nothing other than Jonathan getting upset happened.

I haven't heard from him since.

"Boys are such babies: they either break up with you via text or accuse you of cheating if you beat them to the punch." Rory inspected her baby-pink-colored nail as she bathed me in her wisdom.

I rolled my eyes at her, fully aware she wasn't looking at me, not even bothering with a reply.

I didn't think it was as simple as that: men are babies, and women are naturally superior.

If it were that simple, why did anyone even bother being in a relationship? If women knew that men were babies, then why would we want to have a relationship with a so-called baby in the first place?

Rory glanced at me for a brief second, seeing me pick at my nails, and decided to carry on with her monologue.

"Ah, men just can't seem to fathom that sometimes women simply don't like: we don't want to be with them because we don't love them anymore. They have this idea of ownership that dates back to the Stone Age — women cannot possibly exist without them, as sovereign beings." Rory clicked her tongue in disgust.

I wondered what she would have said (or thought) if she knew the whole truth.

Rory would have probably told me to file a complaint with the police. But was being slapped or having your wrist grabbed sufficient enough to even file a complaint?

As in, was there a charge for slapping or wrist-grabbing?

I could picture myself going to the police, and filing a complaint, the police — maybe, if I'm lucky — view my complaint as a serious issue that needs to be addressed.

And then what?

Two officers would drive me to Jonathan's house, knock on the front door and ask him if he slapped his girlfriend.

Jonathan might confirm that yes, he did indeed do that.

The police officers, in turn, would tell him that it's not okay to slap his girlfriend and proceed by telling him to not do that again.

I could hear the conversation play out in my mind: "Don't do that, son, don't go around slapping people."

To keep up with appearances, Jonathan will apologize (more so to the police officers than me), and they will drive away.

It will be a charade that would end with him hating me even more.

"Hello? Oceane? Can you hear me?" Rory was looking at me with a quizzical expression on her face, holding onto a wooden hanger.

I didn't even notice she was done with her manicure. Her nails were pink and shiny, the color of something organic and raw.

"Sorry, I kinda spaced out for a moment." I gave her a weak smile.

"I asked if you still want to borrow my overall dress, you know, for the party tonight?"

Rory gestured to her closet.

I could see the white denim overall dress squeezed between other pieces of clothing. My friend's closet was so stuffed, I wondered how she could ever find what she was looking for.

"I don't think I'm going to go."

Rory stared at me blankly for a few moments before speaking. Her frozen face alarmed me, making her look as if something on the inside of her has broken down.

"Babe, this is our LAST high school party, like E-V-E-R! Of course, you're going. It's practically a right of passage."

"I can't: Jonathan will be there, and the whole thing will be awkward as fuck."

"Come on, O." Rory set down next to me on the white bedsheets.

"I just broke up with him. Seeing him there and acting like everything is cool will be too weird. And, I'm pretty sure everyone will figure out by then we've broken up... I'm not in the mental mindset to handle all the staring and whispering." I leaned back against the wall, fully aware of the half-truths I was telling.

The truth part was that I wasn't looking forward to people looking at me, wondering about the reasons behind the breakup. It's not like we were some It couple, however, when we started dating people would look at us weirdly, and do double takes whenever we were together. So now that we weren't together any longer, it wouldn't surprise me if people did double takes once again.

The other reason, which I kept to myself, was my fear and embarrassment of facing Jonathan after what happened yesterday.

"The only person who should feel any kind of awkwardness is Jonathan, for throwing a hissy-fit and being a man-child." She placed her hand on my knee in what I supposed was meant to be a supportive gesture.

"You are a strong, fierce, and independent young woman. Don't cave into the patriarchy." Rory insisted.

She sounded like a character out of a tv show.

I wondered if she realized that.

"Okay, do you remember when I used to date James Ng?" Rory asked suddenly, looking as if a lightbulb went on in her head.

"Yes..." I replied slowly.

How could I forget? It was only last year.

"And do you remember how I had to end it because I knew James and I are heading in different directions?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"So I opted for doing the adult thing and ending it, to save us both time and energy. Now, James and I are on really good terms. He was so hurt in the beginning..." Rory paused before continuing, "He's grateful now, though. It's a mature and healthy friendship."

I nodded without saying anything, highly doubting Jonathan and I will ever be on good terms.

Even if it weren't for the assault, Jonathan was no James.