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Not Meant

My friend got LSSed (there is no such thing as LSSed but anyway...) by a song and she's been listening to it and even smiling for some reasons I don't really know. If you happen to know TJ Monterde, then I wrote this story listening to US and dedicated this to that friend of mine.

So my dear SilentRain23, here's your dedication. ((:

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“Here’s to another reunion without her.”

I drank the beer in one-shot, feeling the bittersweet liquid going down. Just like how I feel right now, after seeing all these familiar faces after five and a half long years. It has been that long and I haven’t got any news about her. Sure, she wasn’t my girlfriend or anything related but we’re friends. We’re freaking friends and she did not even bother to communicate. Not even Isabella—who happens to be her best friend.

“Come on, man. You’re still thinking about her?” Adrian slurred, gulping another round of beer. When it comes to drinking, he’s the man.

“She’s probably just too busy. You know her, giving all her effort to everything she does.”

I shrugged at Isabella’s statement. Busy, huh. Is she that busy to not have any time to come home and meet with us? Not to brag, but even I—a sought-after actor—have time to spare.

“You! Hey, you!”

Slowly, I opened my eyes and searched for that person who stormed in my room and woke me up from one of my most lovely dreams. Boy was it a good start for my day.

“Good morning, too.”

She grabbed a pillow and hit me—twice!—while babbling something about a picture and misunderstandings. Still feeling groggy, I blindly reached out and pulled the pillow from her death grip and gave her a confused a look.

“What are you talking about?”

“The picture you posted, idiot.”

“What picture?” I became more confused now. Not only my mind is still flying in dreamland (even after being hit hard) but I seriously don’t have any idea about what she’s talking about.

Realizing this, she collapsed on my bed, letting out a very frustrated sigh. She looks really tired and out of it. Whatever it is, it’s really getting under her skin.

“Yesterday,” she started. “When we went in an ice-cream parlor, you asked a staff to take a photo of us. You do remember that, right?”

“Ah, that one. Why? Did you get a lot of haters?”

She hastily grabbed the pillow I took from her earlier and started hitting me again—one even landed on my face. And that, my friends, woke me up. Really woke me up. I sat up and faced her, feeling a little bit dizzy.

“You don’t look ugly in that one. In fact, you look pretty. What’s making you work up so much?”

“The fact that you posted it,” she retorted as-a-matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

There she goes again. Making a big deal out of small things. Whenever I post photos of us together, she’d veto it and seems like she wants to wreak havoc. That’s why I post it without her around. It’s safer that way.