𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

You were so easy to forgive,
but not so easy to forget
-Suki Waterhouse

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

April 2016,

I was drunk. I was so drunk I couldn't even remember where I was—or how I got there, in that room with Tenny blocking the door. I just know that there was music, thumping below our feet, and there was whiskey, hot on my breath.

And his eyes were so bloodshot, he could barely hold them open.

"This is killing me, Vio," he said to me. "I love you, and it's killing me because you can't say it back—you can't even talk to me, anymore." His face was all twisted up, his back pressed against the pine door.

And I wanted out of that room, so I ripped at his clothes, trying to tear his body away from that door. But my legs were all wobbly and my head was all fuzzy. He wouldn't move.

He reached for my arms.

"Vio, can't you just say it back?" He searched my face—for answers, for confirmation, for any sign of life, at all. He sighed. "Tell me this isn't real between us. Say you don't feel what I feel...but you can't say that either. Because you do love me, Vio. I know that you do, so why can't you just say it?"

He held onto my wrists. His eyes were dilated, glassy and wandering. His words were slurred and too hurried. And my throat burned like it was on fire because I'd seen it all before—in my mother. I looked at Tenny's face, but all I saw was my mother. Tenny wasn't really there, not all of him, anyway.

"Tenny..." I choked. "You're taking those pills still, aren't you?"

He threw up his arms, his face twisted and angry. "This isn't about pills, Vio! You aren't avoiding me because of some pills." And he was back in my face. "You're scared. You're scared because this is real—this is so real and that terrifies you because it means you might actually get hurt."

He cupped my face. "But I wouldn't hurt you, Vio. I would never hurt you like other people have hurt you. Don't you know that?"

I pulled away from him. My cheeks were damp. I was shaking my head, reaching for his pockets. We were going in circles, around and around, in a stranger's bedroom, until I found them: little white pills, stuffed into his coat pocket.

"Why are you doing this?" I shouted. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"What do you care?"

I balled up my fists. "That isn't fair! You don't get to do this, just because you're pissed at me. You want to take these pills?" I raised a handful of them into the air. "Then, I'll take them too." And I pressed them onto my tongue.

Tenny was scrambling toward me. He stuck a finger into my mouth and hooked them all in one swoop. White pills went scattering across worn blue carpet. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"The same thing you're doing!"

He flung his hands into the air, but then he pressed them to his temple. "Why are you running from this?" he asked, desperation in his voice. When he looked back at me, his eyes were glassy, his face was crumpled. "What are you so afraid of? Can't you just love me back?"

I stared down at the pills scattered across the floor.

I stared at Tenny, and my mother stared back.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I'm sorry, Tenny, but I can't do this."