The Truth about Best Friends

“best friends means…”

“Sometimes I hate you,” he says, blowing out smoke.

“Only sometimes?” I taunt.

“Fuck. I lied. I hate you,” he corrects. It doesn’t faze me to hear my best friend say that. Once upon a time, it did. But not anymore. Usually I tell him I hate him too and we continue on like we never said anything. But today I’m in a curious mood and I decide to change the course of this conversation

“Why?” I ask.

“Why?” he repeats as if to check if he heard me right. I nod.

“For one, you make me look bad,” he mutters. I raise an eyebrow intrigued. He stares straight ahead of him and blows out more smoke. I reach for the cigarette that’s dangling from his fingers and take a puff from it.

“You’re such a fucking saint,” he says and I eye him sceptically. I want to laugh but I’m too afraid it will deter him from saying anything more. Instead, I keep quiet and concentrate on blowing smoke out through my nose instead of my mouth. It amuses me greatly.

“You’re so bloody nice to everybody. Too bloody nice,” he grumbles, running a hand through his dyed blonde hair. It’s a home job and the black roots are already showing.

“How so?” I prod, frowning slightly. But even as I ask, I’m not to sure I want him to answer. For a while he doesn’t answer and I think that maybe I had gotten my wish after all. Turns out, he was only thinking about my question.

“You smile and take everybody’s crap. Even when I know you would rather punch them between the eyes, you smile and nod obligingly.” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s not finished.

“You’re every teacher’s goddamn pet. In their eyes, you can do no wrong.”

“The girls at school have you up on this pedestal. Just because you smile and pretend like you actually care about the mindless dribble that comes out of their mouths.” I still say nothing.

“And the boys…they all lust after you….You’re so goddamn obliging.”

“You make me sound like a whore,” I say calmly even though I’m offended. He seems to realise he’s crossed the line and he backs down.

“But the point is, they look at you in all your shiny glory and they look at me and wonder if I’m some charity case of yours. They wonder what I did to deserve someone like you.” I sense a bit of jealousy in his tone.

“So that’s why I hate you. I’m the only one who knows what you’re really like…or is this even the real you?” he sneers. I don’t take to heart his hateful tone.

“Have you ever wondered why…why I have two different personalities? One for you and one for everybody else?” I ask quietly.

“No.”

“It’s for a purely selfish reason,” I tell him. It is his turn to look surprised at my admission.

“You see, I’m terribly afraid of being alone. People are more inclined to like people whom they deem are ‘good’. It’s human nature…or some shit like that. They cannot righteously dislike someone if they cannot find anything morally wrong with them,” I explain. He squints at me, trying to get his head around my words.

“I want people to like me. And if that means I have to pretend to be…well, the other me, then it’s a small sacrifice to make for always having someone…”

“Am I not enough?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes you’re more than enough, but there are times I just want more,” I reply. It sounds harsh but it’s the truth. Besides, he would never forgive me if he found out I was lying; not at this point.

“What about me? Who do I have then?”

“You have me I suppose…. I just don’t know if that’s enough.” I shrug and pick at the chipping blue nail polish nervously, waiting for his answer.

“You’ll always be more than enough,” he admits quietly It stuns me for a moment and then I’m overwhelmed. I hide it by taking another long drag from the cigarette I’ve mooched off him.

“Your turn,” he announces and I look at him quizzically.

“Why do you hate me?”

“Oh. I hate you because you’re confident enough to be who you really are,” I say.

“You’re not afraid to punch someone between the eyes when they deserve it and, if you think I’m the subject of much envy, you’re wrong. Everybody at school secretly desires to be as self-assured and unafraid as you are,” I continue.

“You forgot cocky.”

“That too. Everyone likes a rebel. They’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“I’m glad you aren’t,” he says and I smile at the show of affection. Someone is clearly more open tonight. The conversation lapses there as we’re both distracted by our own thoughts.

“It’s funny,” he laughs but it sounds more like a scoff.

“What is?” I ask, giving the appropriate encouragement when he doesn’t continue.

“We both hate each other for the exact same but opposite reason.” It sounds muddled but I understand him perfectly.

“I guess that’s why we’re best friends,” I reply.

“I guess,” he murmurs. After a while he tosses the cigarette onto the ground and puts it out with the toe of his shoe. Then he pulls out the pack from his back pocket and lights another one. He takes a drag and absently passes it to me. I shake my head.

“I need to get going,” I say, hopping down from the low wall we are perched on. It’s almost eleven-thirty. Half an hour past my curfew.

“Do I smell of cigarette smoke?” I ask, walking closer to him so he could sniff my clothes.

“A bit,” he replies.

“Damn. I guess I can’t recycle these clothes for tomorrow,” I sigh. He chuckles at my priorities.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him. He nods. I lean in and kiss him on the corner of his mouth and he kisses me on the cheek. It is a funny little habit of ours.

Hands jammed into the pockets of my hoodie, I hurry home, leaving my best friend alone in the park to finish his cigarette.

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AN: It started as mindless drabble. Admitting I didn’t put a lot of effort into this may not be the best idea, but…some things just write themselves. The idea itself stemmed from when one of my friends called a classmate of ours a saint. For some reason it got me thinking and this happened. It is a little bit different from my normal way of writing. I think. Though, it’s still very dialogue heavy. As to why I’ve placed it under romance…It has underlying themes…Anyway, enjoy!