The Worst Addiction

Two Words One Call

     He wasn't the face I was looking for, but my eyes didn't stop staring. I wondered if he was happy. There wasn't a single reason on earth he shouldn't have been. My world was in his hands, and it seemed like it'd always would be, so the frown on his face made no sense to me.

     Harry always got everything he wanted. Every single girl he liked became his, and rarely did he keep them long enough for me to be bothered to remember their names which is why when I heard the rumors of them together I called him up angrily. I screamed at him not bothering with pleasurties when he answered and didn't let him get a single word in.

     "She is not like the other girls you just pick up, and use, and throw away." I spat into the phone seeing red, "If that's what you're going to do then let her go, because she deserves better than you, and better than me. She can have any fucking guy in the world and you are lucky she even considered you, so don't you go and break her heart."

     He only had to say two words to shut me up. Simple easy words that felt like he took an arrow and shot me in the chest.

     "Like you?"

     I didn't know what to say after that, and my angry switched fast to guilt, and regret. I let a shaky broken sigh go, and nodded, "Like me." and then I ended the call. I'd gotten my message across. Don't ruin her. Like I had. Like me. 

     His eyes caught me in the crowd, and I didn't break my stare. I wasn't sure if I hated him. Hate could be two things. The easiest thing in the word, or the hardest. It was hard hating him, because as much as I wanted to he was my old best friend, and on top of that he mad her happy. Something I failed to do. 

     We both stood silently in the middle of the busy street, him on one side and me on the other. I finally broke my gaze, defeatedly looking at the ground. The boy that stood across from me wasn't a friend. He was the guy who took her away from me, and that's all he'd ever be from now on. We couldn't be friends, because I wouldn't let us. I didn't want to be friends.

     A friend was someone who was always had your back, and let you know what the world was saying when you couldn't hear. They were a light in the dark, and made you laugh when you weren't sure you could, and they were the people you didn't mind getting insults from because they were only messing around with you. A friend was someone you could trust.

     I wanted to trust him again. Him and I used to know each other forwards, backwards, side to side. I wasn't sure what happened to us. We drifted apart, and we weren't sure how to fix it I guess. It didn't matter now, because the backstabbing didn't hurt nearly as much as it could've and I guess I was thankful for that. If I've learned anything in the past few weeks it was no friends, no problems. 

     I walked past the tattoo parlor I went too occasionally, and bit my lip as I slowed down passing him. My eyes drifted to the door, but my feet continued on. It wasn't the smartest thing in the world to get a tattoo on a whim. In fact it was the reason cover ups were born. A new tattoo though didn't seem like an awful idea. New tattoo, new story. 

     Maybe I needed that. Maybe I needed new things, like a new place. That's what they say after all. New place, new me. I didn't need help anymore. I was past that. I needed a new me where all this smoking, and drinking, and thinking wouldn't be my life. It'd be my past. 

     As the days pasted by I thought more and more about adding a new addition of ink to my skin, but remained unsure of what it would be. Tattoo's weren't a game. You had to be in love with what you chose, because once it was there it wasn't coming off. You could add more ink over top, and change the tattoo, but then it would leave a more noticeable ink patch. 

     I also began realizing there were plenty of things I found hard to hate, but couldn't help myself. They made me think of her. I couldn't stand fruity tea, because it made me think of all the times we'd sat together on the couch while it rained outside with hot mugs in our hand. It was hard to hate because I'd grown a liking to the fruity tea. 

     I couldn't watch The Lord of The Rings anymore, or The Hobbit movies either because they were her favorites. She would get so excited when we saw them, or when I even mentioned them. All the characters in the movies were her weakness. Personally I never had been a huge fan of the series of movies, but I watched them for her. I'd seen them so many times I knew a few lines from memory, and I was never sure if that was something to be proud of. 

     It seemed to me there was a lot that reminded me of her, and the old scarf that she'd forgotten here so long ago was one of the few things I had left of her. It'd lost her smell, and I had to admit to myself that I wish it didn't. I played with the scarf in my hand, and sighed putting in back in drawer of her things that I'd collected for her.

     Whenever she lost something at my place, or it'd slipped her mine it always went in the drawer. If she couldn't find it at home, here was the next place she'd look and I'd make sure to always be ready. She never asked for the scarf back. I wasn't sure why. Maybe she didn't like it, or maybe it was something that left her mind entirely, like me.

     Like me.

     The guy who broke her heart.