You told yourself you loved her more.
As you laid in bed crying yourself to sleep, you made a silent promise that she mattered more to you than any guy ever could. She is your best friend, you whispered. You pledged to step aside and let her have him even if it could break your heart.
It did.
That first moment you saw them together you had to leave the room. They held hands and you flinched. He kissed her cheek and you had to look away. You walked in on them in a moment of tangled limbs and heated kisses and the urge to vomit felt so strong that you barely made it to the bathroom.
They never knew. She called you on the phone after their first date and you pretended to be excited as you wiped the tears from your eyes with a tissue. When she gave you a picture of them as a couple you ripped it apart, then lied when she asked what happened to it. You blamed your dog, the stupid mutt. She did not suspect a thing.
He asked you what kind of flowers she preferred and you told him your favorite, and then watched as she thanked him with a kiss and imagined for a moment that your lips were on his. The holidays came and she asked you for help picking out a present, and you let her buy him what you planned on purchasing. On Christmas Eve, she called you and told you that he loved it, and how did you know? You excused yourself on behalf of a parent that was not telling you to get off of the phone and told her you would call after the holidays.
But then, you were out shopping with your mother and you ran into them at the store. He introduced himself as her boyfriend and your mother shook his hand and bragged about your best friend like the daughter she already had, and later asked you why you could not find a nice young boy like that and my, wasn’t he tall? Your mother told you to have her set you up with one of his friends. You nodded and turned the other way as a tear escaped from your eye.
That night you cut yourself for the first time. You lack a proper blade, so you take a sewing needle and scrape it over your skin until it turns pink. It does not hurt too bad so you keep rubbing and raking until the stinging stays and you make another promise, but this time to yourself. They will never cause you more pain than that needle on your skin.
The slashed skin stings all night and swells a bit but by the next day hardly hurts at all and you are surprised to find you miss the pain, so the next night you do it again. You do not hide the pair of marks and wonder if anyone will notice, but they don’t. They know you have a good head on yours shoulders. You would never dream of hurting yourself.
Now it is not about the pain, but the need to prove them wrong. You carefully plan your scarring, rotating where you do it so it isn’t too obvious, and come up with cover stories. It was a paper cut. You were playing with the dog, stupid mutt.
When they have a fight you pretend that it does not matter. In the safety of your mind you imagine him leaving her for you, and then cry yourself to sleep because you love her and you love him but it is not the same and couldn’t she have given you a shot? But she never asked you to step aside, so it is only your fault. She calls you and cries and you cry with her and make promises that you know you won’t keep.
Weeks pass and you walk to the store to buy some apples for your mother. On the way home, it begins to rain, and it stings one of your fresher cuts, but mostly it slides over your skin as oil slides over wax paper. You think of the people at the wax museum and suddenly wish you were one of them. Then you imagine that it’s really hot and wonder what it feels like to melt and does it hurt like the needle or feel soothing like hot chocolate after the first snowfall?
The rain pours down on you now – big, fat drops soaking your already waterlogged body, and you like the rain and would not mind but then remember that its cold and you only wore a sweatshirt. Goosebumps form on your skin, and you slide up your sleeves to see them against the red lines you have begun to hide. There are so many.
A car horn honks and you stop sloshing along the sidewalk to see his car pulled over on the other side of the street. Forgetting to roll back down your sleeves you run to him and get in the car when he reaches over and opens the door. His car is warm, but still you shake because your hair is cold, your skin is cold, your insides are cold.
He asks if you need a ride somewhere. You say yes.
He reaches a red light and sees that you are still shaking so takes your hand in his – because he really is one of those few nice guys left on this planet – and holds in against his warm body all of the way to your house. Then his arm grazes a recently formed cut and you flinch out of instinct and try to hide it but he notices and looks down at your arm before you can pull it away.
You sit in his parked car in front of your house and he is staring at one arm, then the other, and asking you how the marks got there. You think about lying but lying hurts and you are wet already so why not add tears to the mixture? He is the first person to notice so you decide he deserves an answer. Before you know what you are saying or thinking, everything comes out of your mouth and by the time you finish you are apologizing and telling him you love him and apologizing again and desperately want to get out of the car and go to your room because the needle hurts less than looking into his eyes and telling him the truth, even if it is less painful than lying. You wonder if people make pills to cure verbal vomit. You wonder if you want them to.
Then you are done and it is his turn to speak.
He speaks slowly, stroking the back of your palm with his thumb in a calming manner that would normally make you fall asleep. He tells you not to apologize, and makes you promise never to do it again, or he will be forced to seek help. Without hesitation, you promise, because really, you would promise him anything. Then he nods and surprises you by closing the gap between your faces and placing his lips on your own.
And though your minimal experience in this area – three awkward moments with three equally awkward boys in early adolescence – keeps you from being positive, you feel confident that this kiss, his kiss, is amazing. You think this because your toes curl and lips tingle and suddenly the gaping hole that has been in your gut for months now closes up a bit, if not completely. Your eyes open. He is staring back at you and you smile against each other. His boy-beard itches but you refuse to move. He smiles because this is something new and exciting that he never considered before. You smile because you were wrong, because reality is much better than anything you could have imagined.
Then all of reality catches up with you and you remember that you have a best friend who was in the same position as you not too long ago and suddenly it feels wrong. Suddenly, you realize that none of this will actually be real until you have told her. So you ask him to wait as you take your mother the apples. You return to his car and he drives you to her house and asks you if he should come along and you ask him to wait again because you do not want her to feel double-teamed.
She opens the door, smiles, invites you in. Her mother offers to make cookies. She takes you to her room and you tell her why you came. Before her mother can place the cookies in the oven, you are standing in the rain again.
He tells you to give it time, and you are sad again because you love them both and why can she not pretend like you did?
But you give her time and eventually she stops hating you and though you suspect it is just pretend you take it because it means she cares. You spend your time with her and you spend your time with him and rarely you spend your time with them because you know how much it hurts her. Every day you make sure she is okay and that no marks start appearing on her arms. They never do, and you love her for it.
Months pass and one day he breaks your heart. You call her and you cry and pretend that you do not feel her knowing smile on the other end. She brings over some cookies.
Slowly you both begin talking about him, and even though it is about as awkward as all of your kisses before his you eventually get through it and soon you are laughing about his weird quirks and trading stories – comparing notes. Eventually your friendship begins to return to normal, and though it now has a few scars it is stronger than before. You now see that the torture was worthless.
You are shopping together when a man catches your eyes.
You tell yourself you love her more.
And this time you mean it.
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