You know, I'm sorry

Chapter 1

Ravi

I can't believe he has the actual audacity to sit opposite me, at the dinner table. I can't believe my parents are actually fussing over his lost weight that he lost during the past two semesters. I cant believe that I can't bring myself to care about my best friend.

It's a terrible feeling, being concerned for someone while you want them dead. Okay, that's a lie, I'd never want him dead.

Dinner wraps up, and my parents' conversation with him dies down. Being the fantastic fucking son he is, he offers to clean up. My parents being the desi Indians, still believe after 10 years, that he's still only a guest, he's family.

"Go, Ravi. I know you boys missed each other, your father and I didn't let you both catch up at all," my mom gets up.

I'm just about to interrupt her when that bastard says, "Thank you auntie, we'll be right outside on the swings."

The swings we grew up on. The countless days, and nights where we had stupid arguments and deep life conversations. They were right opposite our house, rumor has it, our mom's built it together, but they neither confirm nor deny, as it has hot pink accents and a butterfly mural right besides it. Is it obvious that they wanted daughters?

"You have some nerve, Zayn," I murmured as we made our way out of the house, "I didn't think you'd actually come over for the holidays, it's been a year."

I finally look over to him, he lets out a sheepish smile, which looks more pained and forceful than anything. "It was getting lonely over there," he maintains my volume for the conversation.

He walks over to sit on the swing, but doesn't actually swing. I walk over to him, but instead lean on the bars supporting the swing set, maintaining eye contact with him, or try to anyway.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, "I missed you. I tried calling you a couple times. You never picked up."

I let out an annoyed puff of air, "Didn't pick up? Why would I pick up? After everything?"

My suppressed anger increases gradually, so does my volume.

"I trusted you. I trusted you with everything, my secrets, my life, my family."

Zayn still doesn't make eye contact, but i see tear drops falling on the ground.

"I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry, Ravi. If I could change anything, I'd always rather it be me."

His sorry is approximately about the hundredth time he's apologized for the same thing, yet all it does is infuriate me further.

"Sorry? You're fucking sorry?" I'm yelling at this point. My mom peeks out of the front door, "Ravi," she calls out, "honey that's enough, you've both had a long day, come get some rest."

I completely ignore her, "Tell them what happened, Zayn." His name sounds venomous in my mouth. "Tell them how you stood drunk off your asses. Too dumb to notice you're too close to the ledge. Too careless to give a damn about anyone else but yourselves. So fucking selfish."

I know I'm going too far, specially with my mom standing here. I hear her gasp, I see the tears brimming her eyes.

"I don't even get to be mad at her, because she's dead. She's the one who was scattered on the pavement, painting it red," I pull him from the swing and shove him against the swing set bars. He jerks, but makes no movement to fight me.

"Fight me, you bastard," I yell, jerking him yet again. I'm just met with more tears. This time, merged with mine.

"I still take the long way to work," my anger now substituted with nothing but pure devastation.

"I can't go past the tower, I still have nightmares," my voice breaks with every other word.

My mom has fallen to her knees, dad's arm wrapped around her, but he's shedding tears too.

I've never seen him cry.

I know I've gone too far.

My father and I mutually decided to not tell my mom about the details. She was in a fragile state. Losing a daughter like that. Not even an 80 year old mother can stand to lose her 50 year old kid. It's the worst kind of torture, to be left alone in a cruel world, that took pieces of your heart.

Zayn slides down the poll, his hands on his folded knees, his head hung low.

I know it hurts him too. But what about me? I'm sick and tired of keeping it together for my mother. She was my sister too.

I grab my coat that I'd dropped on the ground when we'd come out, checking for my wallet, before I sprint out of there.

***

Hi guys, I've always wanted to write, and this has been in my drafts for ages, so I thought, I'd  give it a go. What do I have to lose?