Speechless: REWRITTEN

2. Thistle

Roscoe

"Where the flying fuck have you been?" I exclaim. All of a sudden, my best friend of nearly five years since we met in his prison, who dropped off the face of the God damn earth a year and a half ago, is sitting on my living room couch as if he's been living and breathing here the whole time.

          See, what had happened was that after he moved out, we kept in contact for a few weeks before he called me and told me he needs to 'distance himself from things'. Things meaning me, and his job that he quit two weeks before school started, and New York. According to him, he traveled to London for six months before coming back to New York and deciding to reconnect with me.

          And all I can think is what the fuck?

          I was worried. Extremely worried. Mordecai has never been known as a loose cannon, despite his past. He's calculated, two steps ahead of everything, always thinking things through. Until one girl came and tore through his life like a tornado, destroying everything he laid out for himself since being out of prison. Then when she tore right back out, he had a quarter life crisis and became M.I.A. for months. I had nothing from him. Not one call, text, email, voicemail. Nothing on any of his social medias, either. It's like he never existed, like he was a figment of my imagination. Now, here he is, on my damn couch like he's been here the whole time.

          I'm pissed. I missed him so much, and I'm pissed.

          "I thought I just told you," Mordecai deadpans, looking up at me. On the bright side, he doesn't look as dead anymore. When he moved out, he looked like he was two seconds from jumping off the Empire State building. The color has returned from his face and his hair grew a little bit.

          "Okay...so you lived with your parents for a year, and then decided to study abroad in London. But you couldn't call someone to let them know what was going on?"

          "I explained this to you, I needed space."

          "Space from what?" I throw my arms up. "I wasn't the one who broke your heart!"

          "That never happened," he points out, standing to his feet and approaching me. "Are you ready to listen to me, or are you going to keep throwing a fit?"

          "Fuck you, I haven't heard from you in months!"

          "Roscoe, I needed a readjustment," he snaps. "Seeing you and Gianna and this apartment and that job, it felt like nothing changed. Like nothing happened. I had to quit and distance myself from you because I needed to see what life was like if it was on my own terms." He inhales slowly. "I wasn't the only one who hasn't made a decision for themselves..." He mutters this part, probably not expecting me to hear it, but I did.

          "Okay, Gandhi, then tell me this: what have we learned from having existential crises over seventeen-year olds?"

          "I wish you would stop calling it a 'crisis'. I was still sane."

          "Could've fooled me."

          "I was being stupid, I wasn't thinking clearly. I just...lost myself with her. And that wasn't healthy and I see that now." He sighs. "I...was in a relationship when I went to London."

          "Oh?"

          "Yeah. I met her when I went to see a show there."

          "Was she on a school field trip?" I laugh, and he promptly punches me on the shoulder.