Not to mention, their years long history would have played a role in their reconciliation.
My grip on his t-shirt tightens too, my eyes narrowing, stinging. “B-but… You’re both… You’ve been… You’ve been friends since y-you were kids and…”
“And what?” he bites out.
“I-I didn’t think anything could come between you two.”
“Something can.”
My heart drops a beat. “Me.”
“You.”
I can’t…
I can’t comprehend this. I can’t grasp the concept that they’re not friends anymore.
“Turns out I’m a shitty friend,” he says, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t name, or maybe I’m too numb right now to name it. “Turns out I’m the kind of friend you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy. So it’s not really that much of a surprise that he’s spiraling out of control. That he’s fucking losing it, and the fact that I’m there for him, that Iinsiston being there for him, for every one of his fuck-ups, seems to just make everything worse. I do that though, don’t I? I ruin things. I wreck them. I fucking destroy everything I touch.” Another flex of his jaw. “Didn’t think I’d ruin this too though. Didn’t think I had it in me. To destroy the one and the only good thing in my godforsaken life.”
Only when he finishes do I realize what was flickering in his eyes.
What’s still flickering.
Remorse.
Regret. Contrition. Guilt.
I’m surprised that it took me so long to recognize it. When I see it every day.
In the mirror.
In my own eyes.
For hurting the most important person in my life.
He did it too, didn’t he, though?
He hurt the most important person in his life as well. Only I thought he got a chance to fix it. Plus, in my very angry and low moments, I’ve assumed the worst.
That maybe he put the blame on me. Maybe hetoldLucas on me.
That I was the one,the slut, who came on to him. That’s what he said on the phone, didn’t he? So then why wouldn’t he say that to Lucas as well? To not only save their friendship — which I didn’t think was in jeopardy to begin with — but also to keep us apart. Something that he always wanted to do.
“You didn’t…” I whisper, my grip on his t-shirt still as tight and painful.
“I didn’t what?”
I lick my lips. “Put the blame on me.”
He glances down at my mouth for a second. “Wasn’t yours.”
“But I was the one who —”
His fingers flex, cutting me off. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But —”
He bends down then, making me press my fists on his shuddering chest even more. “Doesn’t.Fuckingmatter.”