BANE OF HIS EXISTENCE

Chapter 16: YOU MEAN THE WORLD TO US, STUPID!

MAYA.

As I opened the door to my apartment, Sasha's fiery presence burst forth, her voice a thunderclap of indignation.

"Maya Virginia-Elizabeth Jones! You crazy, fucking bitch! Did you finally lose your God-damn, fucking mind?" she exclaimed, her rage palpable.

She slammed her Louis Vuitton messenger bag onto the sofa, the designer leather creaking in protest. Then, in a whirlwind of emotion, she enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug, her slender frame deceptively strong. Eric joined in, his eyes brimming with tears, and I felt a pang of guilt for disappearing on them without a word. The weight of their concern and worry was crushing, making me feel even more wretched than I already did.

I should have known better than to vanish into thin air without a word, leaving my loved ones worried sick. But the truth was, even I hadn't anticipated the chaotic outcome of last night's events. Everything had unfolded at a breakneck pace, leaving me no time to think or reason. I had simply reacted on instinct, driven by my emotions.

Sasha and Eric's simultaneous outburst of "I'm so freaking mad at you!" and "Me too, I freaking hate you!" was a poignant expression of their relief and frustration.

As they nuzzled their faces into the crook of my neck, I felt a lump in my throat. Sasha's tears dampened my skin, and I knew I was in trouble. The crying was always the worst – it was the ultimate guilt trip, and I was powerless against it.

I knew I had to act fast to prevent a full-blown emotional meltdown. If Sasha started crying, it would be a domino effect, and before I knew it, we'd all be sobbing uncontrollably. I took a deep breath and attempted to apologize, but my words only seemed to make things worse.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry guys. I just didn't know what to do," I stammered, my voice cracking as the tears began to flow.

The once-quiet walls of my apartment were now filled with the cacophony of our collective crying: sniffling, hiccuping, and the unmistakable sounds of snot-filled noses. I cringed at the thought of my neighbors overhearing our emotional spectacle. This peculiar phenomenon of group crying was a unique aspect of our friendship, a testament to the depth of our love and care for one another.

As I looked back, I realized that this tradition of communal crying had been a part of our lives for as long as I could remember. One of my earliest memories of us crying together was the time Eric got a nosebleed from hugging a basketball with his face during PE in middle school. The image still made me chuckle, but it also reminded me of the unbreakable bond we shared – a bond that allowed us to be vulnerable, to cry together, and to support each other through thick and thin.

The memory of that fateful day still made me cringe. Sasha and I had been convinced we were going to lose our best friend, and our emotions had spiraled out of control. We sobbed uncontrollably, and Eric, in his attempt to calm us down, had ended up joining the chorus of tears. The scene had become infamous throughout Blossom Middle School, earning us the humiliating nickname "The Three Crying Princesses" – a moniker that had haunted us for years. The ridicule had been so unbearable that we'd eventually transferred schools to escape the constant teasing.

Yet, despite the initial horror of that experience, our tendency to cry together had, over time, become an endearing tradition. It was a testament to the unbreakable bond we shared, a bond that had only grown stronger with age. As I looked at my friends, now on the cusp of adulthood, I knew that this quirky behavior was an integral part of who we were. And as we sat there, tears streaming down our faces, I realized that some habits were just too ingrained to outgrow.