When We Collided

The Best Friend

I had taken my role as the best friend very seriously.

For a week, my life had revolved around Onyx. I went to his house early every morning. I cleaned up the mess in his home because he didn't have a cleaner. He used to clean everything himself before this. I took note of the broken pieces of furniture that needed to be fixed and checked what needed to be replaced. Recycled the bottles of beer and other alcoholic stuff. Cooked him breakfast. Dragged him to the shower. Checked his voicemail while he showered. Talked to him even when he didn't talk back.

His other friends weren't around. He was one of those unfortunate enough to share a close-knit group of friends with his ex-girlfriend. Most of them had decided that he was the one to blame for the shitfest, despite her protests. The others who didn't really think so still stayed out of the way to avoid getting into the line of fire. I was the only one who didn't care.

He had tried to win her back. He had camped outside her apartment, even tried to end his career just to get her back, all to no avail. When that woman's mind was set, she was unmoveable. It was disheartening to see all the fight leave his body when she closed the door on him the last time.

It was lucky for both him and me that we weren't needed at the studio anymore. They were at the final phase of film making. We had at least a few days to get our shit together. Especially Onyx.

Our afternoons were reserved for watching TV in the living room. I was more careful now about my choice of shows. I had the mistake of tuning to MTV once, and of course a music video of Jessica and her sister, Pressy, had come on at that exact same time. The remote control had suddenly embedded itself into the TV screen. And I had spent the whole afternoon trying to get him a new TV while he wallowed in his room once more.

Now we watched cartoons. Safe enough not to bring him any more painful memories. A classic episode of Tom and Jerry came on. I saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

Hallelujah! Finally.

I pretended not to notice, lest he retreat back to his depressive state. I didn't really think it was the show that made a difference. It could have just been him coming to terms with this tremendous change in his life.

I felt his hand cover mine.

I looked up at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, but there was a certain light in them now. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," I whispered back.

And then his lips were on mine.

We had kissed dozens of times. The first time was when we shot his first music video ages ago. And then some more during the film and the music videos after that. Kissing during a shoot was not as romantic as it looked. There was a sort of technicality to it. We were always supposed to be aware of how it looked like onscreen. We sometimes had to make certain adjustments, like continue kissing despite feeling uncomfortable just so we could nail a shot.

This was not one of those kisses.

This was spontaneous. Surprising. Pleasurable. This had a sense of wonder and an undertone of supressed feelings I dared not give a name to.

We kissed until we were out of breath. The kiss left me strangely euphoric, and he looked dazed as well. A few minutes after it ended, my mind jumpstarted and then logic brought me back down to earth.

It was a rebound kiss. I was sure of it.

The knowledge didn't make it feel less wonderful, though. But it was the slap in the face that I needed.

He looked devastated.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked him in a neutral tone. I tried not to make a big deal out of it.

He looked at me, puzzled. "Aren't you mad?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because I kissed you," he answered, looking confused.

"You're going through a lot right now. Let's try not to overanalyse everything, okay? You're allowed to go a little crazy sometimes."

This seemed to pacify him. "Crazy. Yeah, it was. Sorry."

"No problem. Do you want to order pizza?"

And then we didn't talk about it anymore. We had an unspoken agreement to forget that it ever happened. Or try to forget anyway.

I made sure he was settled in bed before I left. He was talking to me now, but he was still not completely out of the water. I made a mental note to check on him the following day to make sure he didn't relapse.

It was already dark when I got out of the residential area and it was a bit harder to catch a cab. A familiar blue car stopped in front of me.

"Rick?"

"Shan. Get in."

I felt guilty sitting beside him. I had not seen him for a week. I'd told him the truth about why I couldn't spend time with him. It was probably why he knew where to find me.

"You're spending too much time with him," he opined.

I felt my face heat up. "Rick, he's my friend. I cannot leave him in this state."

"Of course you can."

"I made a promise."

"To whom?"

"To his ex. That I'd take care of him when she was gone."

"Well, that was convenient for her. Get someone to clean up the shit she left behind."

"Rick! You don't know anything so don't act like you do."

"Exactly! I don't know anything because you don't tell me."

He stopped the car and turned to me.

"That's not fair. When had I ever lied to you?" I asked angrily.

"When you said he's just a friend."

"You're getting riled up over something that doesn't exist."

"Shan, look me in the eye and tell me honestly. Are you in love with him?"

I stared at him quietly. Why couldn't I say anything? I tried to speak, to deny it, but nothing came out.

"Just as I thought," he said, his face contorted in pain. "I guess I was too late, huh?"

Oh my God. What have I done?

Photo credits: http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/338/e/5/chibi_kiss_by_m_angela-d347hqc.png