Coincidences

Act LXXIX

"Great. Your fever's down," Dad said, holding the thermometer up for me to see. "Maybe you can go to school next week."

"Next week?" I repeated, checking if I heard that right.

"Yeah, duh. It's Friday. Check your calendar."

Dad brought me some butterscotch cookies and some milk, to my surprise, actually, since he didn't usually have the time to put his effort into this kind of stuff. Mom used to do this. He set the tray in front of me, prepared in a neatly fashion.

I stuttered, "Th...thanks." I nibbled on a cookie. Mom's recipe.

"It's Mom's recipe," Dad informed. I was thinking the same thing. "I was lucky to get her to teach me how to bake them. They're really good." He swiped one off my plate and ate it, savoring the sweet crunch.

"Gotta go," he said. "Spent enough time baking. I need to get to work." He huddled to the office and disappeared out of sight.

I drank a sip of milk and dunked the cookie in the glass. I took another bite and let it sit on my tongue. The sugar melted into the buds, and I washed it down with some more milk. I really felt a whole lot better now; I'm able to use my phone without having a headache.

Ding dong went the doorbell. I couldn't get so suddenly to get it. I feel weak to do it, and I have to put all of this stuff elsewhere, or I'll make a bigger mess than there already is. I heard Dad shuffling down the stairs and opening the door afterwards. There was some muffled speech, Dad's chuckle, and incoming footsteps. Then, a person showed up in front of me. Zoey was holding a box of something, I can't tell, and she approached me.

"How are you doing?" she said, grabbing my chair and sitting beside my bed. "Feeling better now?"

My throat, still hurting, let out, "Yeah, getting better."

She saw the cookies and didn't move an inch for a moment. She then spoke up, "Butterscotch?"

"Yeah," I nodded, wondering if she wanted some.

"That's uncalled for. I brought some for you, too." She held up the box and revealed some more butterscotch cookies. She put the lid on the desk, and then, she set the box on top of it, leaving it open. She got one from the container and offered it to me.

I helped myself with it, and, I have to admit, it was pretty good, too. In a jiffy, I was able to finish the whole cookie.

"Did you like it? I made it myself," claimed she, grinning at me.

"Please, you didn't need to put your effort onto making these."

"Don't worry. If it's for a friend, it's ok."

I don't know what got into me, but, for some reason, I began to laugh. Hysterically.

"Martin? Why are you laughing?" she asked, showing a worried look on her face.

"Hahaha..."

She rose up and put her hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. "What's happening to you? Martin! Martin, snap out of it!"

"HAHAHA!!!"

Zoey stood back, with an expression I can't recognize at all. It didn't matter, though. I was clearly out of my mind. She backed away, cupping her mouth.

"Martin, I... I'm sorry," said she, before she turned the doorknob and left. I heard the front door closing shut, and I couldn't help but look over the window to peeking at Zoey, who was running back to her place.

I was so delirious at that time, laughing to myself uncontrollably. At that time, I didn't know why, but, after that, after calming down, I realized the reason why.

Friend. It's such a paradoxical and conflicting word. It's a word that bends all logic, dragging you with it. It shouldn't be used carelessly, or you'll hurt someone by saying it. I know how this is going to end. They could say, "Let's stay friends," but, as time goes on, they'll barely talk to each other, and they won't even make contact with you anymore. That's how it always goes. Except for the Rimsons. Their arrival was unexpected.

My laughter turned into quiet sobs, my sanity turned into insanity. I knew this fate was coming. They all come and go. Their actions are futile. No matter how much they try, they'll eventually leave me all alone. I can't stop this feeling; it's like a sharp knife stabbing you continuously.

Zoey. Why are you sorry? This was bound to happen. You don't need to tend to me anymore. There's nothing you and I can do about it. I should be the one who should be sorry. I forced myself into this. I wanted to be with someone so badly, but, as always, I ended up hurting myself. This is what I have done. I'm the one to blame. Go on and be happy with Ty. He's better than me, and I'm sure you'll spend much more worthy time with him.

I took a pillow and covered my face, screaming a muffled cry for nothing.