Title: I Don't Think I Care
Warnings: Swearing, um, not a relationship in her, but both characters are obviously gay…
Summary: How two friends can fall apart so easily. How they can begin to resent each other and fall into hatred. Rated for swearing and minor hints of f/f.
Feedback: Review! Anything. Flame, praise, whatever, just drop a review.
Dedication: For anyone who's ever been pushed to the breaking point
"No, it's none of your business, Mick," you huff angrily. "Move on, change the subject."
But don't we always? Isn't it always like this between us? Me pushing until you answer, until you open up, so that maybe, just maybe I'd be able to help you.
I'm sick of it.
"Fine," I mutter, "I don't know if I even care anymore."
I think that hurt you, I really think it did, but something inside me tells me it doesn't matter anymore. Not anymore, because… because you'd never let me know it did. Because I'm not enough, can't be enough.
Whoa, I prod myself. Where's this train of thought coming from?
"Okay," you cut into my thoughts, "Don't care. Because I don't care if you do."
Once, long ago, I'd have told you that was a lie, that you did care, because once, long ago, I thought you did.
I wonder now if you've changed or if I was sorely mistaken.
I was probably mistaken.
"I know," I manage, "You don't need me anymore, Amber, I know that."
"What do you know?" you ask bitterly.
I shrug, "Not as much as I thought I did… I… I thought I knew you. And I never really did."
"If you knew anything about me…" you start, but you don't finish.
I don't care. I'm through caring.
I broke once. I broke and I didn't know if I cared about anything. I left friends, my girlfriend, and I locked myself away and I didn't let anyone touch me.
Minutes of it, turned into hours, turned into day, turned into weeks. And I was alone. And you didn't care.
I wonder what you'd do if you knew you were the one who pushed me over the edge.
All I ever wanted was for you to care. You didn't. And you still don't.
You're much too selfish to.
"Why do you do this to me?" I murmur. You look up, anger written all over your face. I used to think you looked so young, but with that expression, you look so old.
"Maybe because I'm sick of you?" you ask in a cruel voice.
"Maybe," I reply, managing to keep my voice firm.
I won't let you know how you hurt me this time. Not this time.
And not ever again.
"Who would even need you?" you sneer. I shrug and manage to keep my face devoid of all emotion.
"Certainly not you. You don't need me anymore. You've got her, you won't ever need me again," I say, wanting my tone to be casual and not knowing if it is.
You narrow your eyes at me. "It's not about her."
"Of course it is," I shoot back, "We were only ever friends because of her."
Our entire friendship was about her, about you needing someone to help you. And I was there, I was strong as I watched her hurt you over and over again. You needed a shoulder to cry on, and I was the first one you found. Because like a fool, I cared about you. Like a fool, I even loved you.
No, not like that. Not like that childish emotion you felt for every other girl in the universe but me,
I wasn't in love with you, but yeah, I loved you. I'd have gone to the end of the Earth and back for you, and you knew it. You exploited it. You exploited me.
"That's not true," you say, glaring into me. "Not true at all."
You could be right. You could be. Maybe it wasn't about her, maybe it was about something else, I don't know anymore. Maybe, just maybe… maybe it was about…
"You're right," I say firmly, forcing my voice to never betray me. "It wasn't about her. Our friendship was always about you, and the fact I loved you."
"You loved me?" you spit. "Yeah, right. Because I never could have loved you."
"You didn't have to," I manage, "And not the way you're thinking. I loved you like family, as my friend, as someone I'd always be there for-"
"Well, I guess that's over," you snap bitterly.
I shake my head slowly, sadly, "You don't even know what love is." You narrow your eyes coldly, and all I can see in you lately is hate.
You remind me of her. Not your her, my her. My her. My her, the one with the power to always see through me, and my act, and my lies. The one who knew me, too well. The one who I came to expect to see every morning. Her. The One.
The girl who's name sometime hurts too much to say. Cassie.
You know how much she hates me now.
You're just like her. You push and push and push… to the breaking point.
And like the same old fool, the same old naïve Mick, I let you break me too.
"Who cares what you think love is?" You shake your head in… disgust I think. "You don't know anything about it… do you even miss her?"
"She's not part of this," I stammer back. You're not talking about The One. You're talking about Monica, the girl I loved.
"You'd never understand her."
"I understand you don't think about her, I understand that she's barely been gone and you won't talk about her, won't think about her."
"It's not like you'd even care," I manage. "You never would have. I haven't talked about her, you never asked how I was. But don't ever presume I don't think about her. I think about her every second of every day. Don't you dare play that card, Amber!"
"Did you ever even cry, when she left?"
"No," I reply. "I didn't cry, because she wouldn't have wanted me to. She wanted me to be okay, and I am okay… I do it for her."
"I don't imagine she even cared," you tell me maliciously. "But who can blame her? Who'd ever want you, Mick?" You shake your head, curl your lip. "You're just Mick, stupid, and goofy, and obsessed with girls."
"Yeah," I say, things finally falling into step. "Of course you don't want me, I'm happy. I'm happy with who I am and in my choices. I'm happy… and that kills you."
You slap me. You actually slap me, hard across the face. I put my hand up to the mark, feeling the red mark forming there.
"Did I touch a nerve?" I say, sadistically, the sneer on my face mirroring yours. "That's right, Amber, you're not happy, and it kills you I am. You only want to surround yourself with the same kind of misery, because then you don't feel like it's bad or something. But it is. You only surround yourself with pain and self-loathing and you'll never be happy! All you do is fool yourself, filling your life with manufactured, temporary feelings of joy and pleasure. But it will never last because," I laugh bitterly. "Because face it, all alone, by yourself, you hate yourself."
You try to slap me again, but this time I'm ready and move back. You glare furiously at me, and there's so much hate in those eyes, eyes that could have seen through me, if they had tried.
If they had wanted to.
"I hate you," you hiss.
I shrug, "Tell me something I don't know… It doesn't matter if you hate me, it doesn't matter anymore, because I don't care. You never felt anything for me, all you ever did was use me and take me for granted."
You always took me for granted.
"I never took you for granted," you mutter. But in your heart, I think you know- you always did.
"Of course you did," I say, my voice stronger.
"I mean come on, I was just your… I don't even know, the person you just came to whenever things got bad…"
"And you think that didn't mean anything?"
"You threw me away quick enough when they got better," I mutter.
You look away, and once, I would have thought I hurt you, but I don't know anymore.
I asked you once how you turned out just like me, and you got mad, really mad.
I don't know why you got so mad, but I know now, we're nothing alike. I'm know right from wrong, I don't use people, and I'm happy with who I am. And you- you're nothing more than a cold, bitter person, who will always be alone.
Maybe it's for the best I won't stick around to find out.
I think it'd tear me apart.
"I didn't take you for granted," you say firmly.
"Quit lying to yourself, Amber."
"Was there ever any doubt?" I ask your retreating back. You whirl around, your hair in your face, all fire and brimstone, and hate.
"Good bye," you hiss, hate all over your face.
"Good bye, Amber-chan," I murmur, "Don't forget to slam the door on your way out."
"Go to hell," you spit.
I feel myself smiling slightly. "I may yet."
I don't know if you hear, as the door slams and you're gone.
Maybe you'll come back, in fact, I hope you do.
I hope the you I knew comes back, not the one I see now. Maybe you'll come back, and apologize and be in my life again.
But not likely.
Besides, I'd take you back, but I could never forgive you…
You made me cry, and there's no forgiveness for that.
When you left, there weren't any tears I could see in your eyes, but this time…
I don't think I care.