When No One's Asking; When No One's Looking.

A Step Away from You

I sat there, looking at my phone, feeling all sorts of things. My head was a mess. Then my phone buzzed, snapping me out of it—it was a message. I glanced at the screen and saw it was from them. The one person who always made me feel happy and frustrated at the same time.

I felt like I had to say something.

I took a deep breath and typed.

"Hi."

They replied quickly, as casual as ever. "Hi."

I hesitated, unsure for a moment. But then I decided to just say it. No more holding back.

"I'm not okay with you doing drugs. Not one bit."

The message was sent, and I waited. I could already feel what was coming next.

After a pause, they replied: "I get it. I don't encourage anyone to do drugs. I don't think it's that big of a deal. I'm working on it. I've promised myself I'll quit once I'm back home."

I read their message a few times. I wanted to believe it, but something didn't sit right with me.

"How am I supposed to just believe you?" I typed back. "You've said this before. How exactly are you working on it? What do you mean by 'not a big deal'?"

Their reply came quickly, and I could tell they were annoyed. "It's not like I'm ignoring what you're saying. I don't do it as much anymore. I've cut down to once a day, and some days I don't do it at all. I'm trying, but it's hard. Can you not push me so much?"

I stared at the screen for a moment. Then I replied, "I can't just not push. I'm worried about you. I don't want to feel this stressed about a friend. If you're serious about quitting, I need to see that. Your replies don't make me feel like you're trying enough."

There was a longer pause this time. Then their message came through, and it was clear they were upset. "What do you want from me? I told you I'm quitting. Isn't that enough?"

"No," I replied, my hands shaking a little. "It's not enough. Words aren't enough. Trust is built on actions. I need to see real effort. Not just for you, but for me too. This isn't easy for me either."

I could imagine them sighing on the other side of the phone. "I've stopped the weed, and I'm trying to break this addiction too. I've done it before—I just need to do it again. But honestly, I don't know what else to say."

I frowned at the screen, feeling sad and frustrated. "If you've quit before, then why are you back here? It's not quitting if you keep going back to it. That's just a cycle."

Their reply came fast, and they sounded defensive. "Just because it doesn't meet your standards doesn't mean it's not progress. I've told you everything I can. There's nothing more to explain."

I felt like crying but held it in. "I care about you," I typed. "That's why I'm pushing. If you don't want to explain more, fine. But don't expect me to be okay with it just like that. Trust takes time, and I'm not going to pretend it's fine."

The messages slowed down after that. The silence between them felt heavy.

Finally, I typed: "I guess that's it, then."

I put my phone down and stared at it, feeling all kinds of emotions. Worry. Disappointment. Tiredness. I couldn't force them to change, but I couldn't just ignore it either.

"Take care of yourself," I wrote softly before setting my phone aside, the words still echoing in my head.