Heartbreaker
She thinks that I don't see it because I'm the one who's hurt.
She thinks that no one sees her pain. As far as she knows, I don't notice that, these days, her parents were rarely home. I don't notice that her light never turns off at nights, and I definitely don't notice her crying when I look out my window.
She believes that no one has realized that her brother doesn't visit from college any more, nor is anyone supposed to notice that her parents rarely come home as of the late, and when they do, they can't even look each other in the eye. She doesn't know that I see the repetitive tics that she has developed recently, or the confused expression she has even dealing with the simplest things.
I'm not supposed to notice the hoodies in the middle of the summer, and I'm definitely not supposed to notice the way she bruised so easily these days.
No one is.
Because while every one of her friends ran to her with their problems, while she consoled them, no one in their anger or sadness would ever see her distress. She masked her thoughts with a smiles, laughter, and jokes. No one questioned her new short hairstyle because, as she put it, "I wanted a change, and, besides, it's fashionable now."
While she's the one breaking apart, everyone else believes that they are breaking down.
And I, who renounced the right to be her friend years ago, can see it, but am too distant to do a damn thing for her. She still agonizes over my well being, I know, but I also know that staying close to her will cause her more pain. I'd rather she never have any expectations for me than to feel let down. I can't help her because I will always inevitably choose to push her away, time and time again.
Yet, selfishly, out of habit, I run to her house the moment he comes home. I still seek sanctuary in the presence of a former best friend whom I don't deserve, because she is the only one who knows and understands. But she's someone that I can't help, console, or save. I can't do anything for her, but to act frivolous once again to convince her that everything was fine on my side so that she carried one less burden that she never had to bear.
She'll never need to know how torn I feel. She'll never have know the way guilt and regret eat at me every time I saw her because I want desperately to have our childhood friendship back.
Of course I wished that my mother wasn't sick and that my father hadn't turned out to be an irresponsible bastard with fidelity issues, but I've long since come to terms with the fact nothing I do would have altered the occurrences. But I was responsible for this un-amendable rift between the two of us. I wished that I could take time back. I wished that I could find the courage to say the words, "I'm sorry." I wished that we were close enough for her to trust me.
But I'm just a cowardly boy on the couch near the brink of tears, while she's the one curled up at my side, calmly waiting until I found the clarity to speak.
She's the one who patiently waited for me to come around, to heal, to forgive, and I'm the one who was both unwilling and incapable of moving on.
I want to tell her that everything would be fine, I want to be the one to teach her how to get through heartbreak, but I don't know how myself.
I have no idea how to save someone so far gone.
So even while I'm not supposed to know how her hair is falling out unnaturally, while I'm not supposed to see how pale or thin she is lately, while I'm not supposed to see the pills on the kitchen counter, while I'm not supposed to know that something's destroying her family, I can't give her everything she gave me.
Instead, all I could say was, "Why didn't you tell me you have cancer?"
She paused before replying honestly, "Because I didn't think you'd care."
She doesn't know how much I cared.
And she'll never have to know how much I loved her.