Another attempt at BeKindRewrite’s Inspiration Monday. I’m quickly getting addicted.
His revenge was different than I expected.
Most guys would assemble his buddies. Find you in a bar alone. Watch you. Follow you outside. They’d trash you then trash your car, and you’d forgive it, because you felt it was justified. You break the code, you get what’s coming to you. You could go home, relieved. It would be over. You could move on.
Not this time. He’s still my best friend, as if nothing happened. As if I didn’t do what I did.
His hand pauses midair. A high-five on the cusp, daring me to refuse. I meet it. I’m too afraid not to.
“You in for tonight?”
“Course.” I just want to lay low, not provoke any questions. I go over the confrontation in my head for the hundredth time. Did I dream it? Did I hallucinate? Does he have amnesia?
“What’s so fuckin’ funny?”
My fists ball. I stiffen out of reflex. But someone shoves him instead, and I see it’s a game. Just someone passing by, giving him shit about something else. They don’t know. If they did, they’d be all over it. I pick up my gym bag before I do something stupid.
“How ’bout if I give you a hand with that oil pan beforehand?”
I shrug. It’s the last thing I want.
But he’s going to carry on. He’s going to be my best friend, rubbing my face in my own excrement until we both die.