I let out another anguished sob. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. I’ve spent the past seven years of my life with you and now you expect me to- to just…” My voice wavered.
“Yes. I want you to leave. You told me you hate who is currently my only friend, and there’s tension between you and me. I can’t handle you looking down on me, making ‘joking’ comments that you think I laugh off. Your comments really hurt me, I have the scars to prove it!”
Her words hung in the air for a moment and I wiped my eyes. She wasn’t done, however. “Guess what else, Katrina? My friend doesn’t like you either. She sees you for the manipulative dirtbag you are. She saw that before I did. If I had listened, I wouldn’t be telling this sobfest to get out of my apartment!”
I stared at my now ex-best friend, eyes wide open, tear tracks down my red face. Did Colee really think that about me? If she did, when did those traits start covering up who Colee knew me for? She had trusted me for the better part of seven years. She had trusted me since we met. Seven years… seven years of friendship meant we would be friends forever, right? Isn’t that what psychologists said?
I started to panic. Colee couldn’t throw me out, could she? I was supposed to stay with her for a week, and now I had to find someone else. A thought crossed my mind that gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe she would just talk to me, sometime. From the way her brow was furrowed over her gray eyes, her red lips set in a thin line, and her short blond hair all in a mess, now was not even close to being the time.
Standing up in a quick motion, I hurried to the bedroom I had been staying in the past two days. I threw my clothes into my red suitcase and zipped it up. I grabbed my ukulele and put it gently into its case, and jerked my phone charger out of the wall socket. I struggled to wheel my suitcase into the living room. With horror, I saw Colee curled up on the ground, head between her knees with her left hand clutching her right arm. A small, sharp blade glistened at her feet. She was quietly sobbing. Gently, I took her uninjured hand. It was shaking and had a weak feeling to it, so different from the strong, sure Colee I knew.
“Do you want me to call Tegan?” I whispered, rage and sadness boiling under my skin at the thought of her name. She nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll leave as soon as she gets here. I’m sorry,” I said sadly. I took Colee’s phone and dialed Tegan’s number. My heart shattered when I realized that this relapse was my fault, and I pushed it away when Tegan answered.
“Hello?” A voice said, tinny through the phone. Tegan had an obnoxiously high voice. Her tone of voice reflects on her confidence levels, and being effortlessly smart, Tegan was confident. It made me cringe, and I hoped this would be a short phone call.
“Tegan. It’s me, Katrina. Colee needs you, I can’t stay. Please come over.” I trailed off, sadness clearly heard in my voice. Tegan got the idea.
“I’ll be there in ten.” She hung up the phone without another word. As I was contemplating who I should get in touch with so I would have a place to stay, I heard a small sound and whipped around, grabbing a towel for Colee’s cut. She was still on the ground, staring at the blood pooled around her wrist. She had tears running down her face, and as I bent down, I heard her whispering, “why… why… why…”
Author's Note:
I am writing this based off of something that happened to me. I changed the names and exaggerated it a lot. I am new to writing so constructive criticism? Thanks xx
