I don't want to feel anything at all. But I do. Because it's human. There's a hole in my chest, there's an all consuming, mind numbing pain that I wish I could shut off. I wish I could rip it out. I wish there was an off switch. I know we're both hurting right now. I think it hurts a little more because I know I caused all of this. Because all you ever did was give and I tried. I tried to give it back.
"I didn't need you to give anything back," you hissed, frostbite eyes and venomous words. "I just wanted you to be there!"
And that was the sucker punch. I still think about it, that night. It still stings, a phantom pain - an itch that you can't get rid of.
There's a knock on the door that's more for courtesy than anything else. One more knock, just to make sure before the tentative opening of the door. I don't bother to turn to look around. I know who it is. I see his reflection from the TV.
"Daniel," I say curtly, not to be polite but just to spite.
"Jeon," he greets back. His voice is measured, fighting back the smug tone that's scratching the surface.
"Here to pick up _____'s things?"
"Pretty much."
"_____ had to send you to do the dirty work, huh? Guess you really don't mind getting your hands dirty. Not that they were ever clean in the first place."
Daniel laughs, "it's not my fault. _____ was bound to find out about it."
He pauses, a sardonic smile making its way on his lips, "I just helped speed things up."
I told you once that I didn't like hanging out with your best friend because we had clashing personalities. I might have toned down my true feelings for your sake. But now that I'm getting this all out in the open. I didn't like hanging out with your best friend because he was a little shit.
I think you might have known that. Is that why you sent him to get your things?
Before I know it, I've grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. His eyes flash with a defiant glint and a smug smirk traces his lips.
"We both know I didn't do anything wrong," Daniel sneered.
"You took her away from me."
Daniel laughs, a short bark of humorless laughter that aggravates me even more.
"You did that yourself when you couldn't keep it in your pants."
That's the word, the killing blow. He knows it, I know it. I let him go. He's untouchable. He's the hero who only did what he had to to keep his best friend from getting hurt. He's the nice guy that everybody roots for and I'm the asshole who had everything but squandered it away.
I may be the villain in everybody's story.
But that doesn't mean I'm not the hero of my own story.
