If It Were Me

When You're Best Friends, It Means Forever and Always

So, I first want to apologize to all of you that have been waiting for this update. I understand I left you on the WORST possible cliff hanger and I promise that I did not torture you intentionally. It's just, this is a really dark story and I meandark. I've never written anything so painfully emotional so it was hard for me to write this chapter. I had to go back to a dark place I haven't been in a long time and it scared me, so I just kept putting it off and putting it off until I forced myself to sit down and finish it. 

So here it is and I'm sorry for the absence. I'll tell you the rest of it at the end of the chapter

Comment, Vote, Fan. You know, one of those things.

- Sierra 

P.S. This is dedicated to 3mmaRawrs and her friend Gabriel, whose story really helped to inspire me to push through this chapter. If you all have time, give her a get well soon for her friend Gabriel. He's not okay right now and it would greatly be appreciated!

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      In all my years of life, I never knew someone could look so angry. Grant’s jaw pulled tight, the muscles of his neck flexed as he stared stonily at the paper in my hands. My legs shook at the blind rage in them, at the way he didn’t look at me as a friend, but as a… thing. Instinctively, I held out the poem for him to see.

        “Did you write this?” No response.

        “Grant, please, did you write this?!” I demanded. I had to know. I had to know the truth for the both of us.

        “Does it matter?” Those three words were a slap to the face. But I liked the sting; it was less than I deserved. I was out of place here in this chaos that he thrived in. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and squared my shoulders. I braced myself to look him in the eye.

        “It matters to me,” I whispered back. Tears threatened to prick my vision at how guarded he was, like an animal cornered with a predator. It was the look of someone who had given up on being saved. Grant scoffed and turned his head away towards the light of the open window. The yellow walls of the office casted a cheerful glow, a stark contrast to what was really going on. And even though I knew it was wrong, I was still struck by the simplicity of Grant's beauty; even in anger, he was outrageously stunning. He was a silhouette, his shadow as dark as this house; as the woman down stairs.

        “I don’t see why you care so much,” Grant started, only tilting his head enough for me to see the green in one eye, “what was going on with me didn’t seem to matter to you much before.”

        A tear slid down my cheek, but not from sadness. No, I was angry. In fact, I was beyond angry; I was pissed off. How could he say such a thing? I cared about him more than anything. I was here wasn't I? But I was also angry that he lied to me, for letting me run around with my thumb up my ass worried sick, hoping against hope that by some crazy twist of fate we would be great friends. Angry that he had the audacity to tell me I didn’t care when I plainly stood in front of him and begged for an answer. But this was only a miniscule portion of my anger.

        I was angry at myself for not saving him sooner, for not hugging him when I wanted to and saying all I wanted to say. The fact that he had a hard time helping me get a boyfriend because he didn’t know what love was hadn’t once crossed my mind.

        He may be an asshole, but I was the monster. My face flooded with heat as I burst.

        “I had shit going on with me too, okay?! It’s not like I wanted you to feel like I didn’t care!” I shouted, my hands gestured wildly around me. Grant laughed, a first for my ears, and shook his head. It sounded wrong when it came out of him; like a sad song you would listen to in the dark.