Bestie

“I understand, and I really am sorry for hurting you. That was never my intention. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, smiling, even though I’m sure he can see it’s broken. “You can’t help how you feel. I know that now better than anyone. You were honest with me, you always told me the truth, I just didn’t want to hear it. We both rushed when the truth was too soon for both of us.”

“Yeah, it was. But you do matter to me, I love having you around, and I don’t want to lose you. I just have to figure this one out. I have to work through this. I just need you on my side, without judgement.”

My heart clenches, but I nod. “I understand, and I’m sorry.”

“You want a coffee? I’ve missed you, Bestie.”

I smile, and this time it does shake. “Yeah, I do.”

He makes us a coffee and we sit outside at his table. I study him, and internally, my heart is shredding into a thousand pieces. He looks terrible. He was feeling better for a while, he was smiling, he was laughing, he was easing up and looking like he might finally get through, and now he looks like he’s right back to square one. His eyes are dull, he’s not laughing like he usually does.

How could she do this to him?

Honestly, how the hell can she do this?

That’s right, because she only cares about herself.

“You don’t look so crash hot, spunky, you okay?” I ask, sipping the coffee.

He shrugs. “Not really, hey. I was feeling good about moving on, things were good, and now I feel like I’m right back to square one again.”

“You’re feeling the same hurt?”

He nods.

Fuck. Her.

“Have you spoken to her?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ve spoken to her. She said she needs a few weeks and then we’ll talk about it.”

Bitch.

Stupid. Stupid. Bitch.

She is hanging him on that rope again. Making him wait a few weeks, making him hold out, not knowing, not understanding, wondering what she’s going to say. That must be pure hell for him. It shouldn’t be this hard. You either want someone, or you don’t. You either love them, or you don’t. A few weeks isn’t going to change that.

She’s stalling, because she knows, this time around, when she finally tells him she doesn’t want him, and she will, because she’s a shit person, then she’ll lose him. She knows, deep down in her heart, that it’ll be the final moment for them, that he’ll stop giving to her, that he’ll move on, that he’ll stop being the one person in the world that gives a shit about her.

And her selfish ass doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

She likes the attention.

She likes what he’s giving her.

She also knows she’s not willing to give any of that back.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That sucks. Has she said if she wants to get back together?”

He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know what she wants. I don’t know what’s going on. She’s away with that other fucker at the moment.”

God. Damn. Her.

I can’t even imagine how that must feel.

Does she stop, at all, and think about her actions? Even a little fucking bit?

“I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s all good. How are you?”

He’s changing the subject, and I understand why. He isn’t a big talker about his emotions, as most men aren’t. I don’t push. There’s no point. We’ll just end up in a massive argument, and neither of us need that.

“I’m okay, getting there. We should do something. You want to go for a drive? Drink excessive amounts of beer? Shoot something?”

He smiles, and it makes me feel better to know I’ve gotten at least one out of him. “Yeah. I do. Gotta take my mind off this.”

“Let’s tip this coffee out, go and get some beer, and drink until we both feel better.”

He laughs. “Sounds like a fucking good plan to me.”

I stand and smile down at him. “I’ve got your back, Bestie. Even if sometimes I’m an asshole about it, I do have your back.”

“Yeah,” he says, holding my eyes. “I know you do.”

“Then let’s go get some beer and get this party started.”

He stands, extending his hand for a fist pump.

I laugh. Giving it to him.

It’s not completely okay, but like everything else, we’ll find our way through this.

We always do.

~*~*~*~*~

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!” I cry.

Roman rolls his eyes, curls his fingers in mine, and our thumbs press against each other.

“I’m at a disadvantage.” I laugh. “Your thumbs are way bigger than mine.”

“Deal with it, midget fingers.”

I use my other hand to thump him, and then I grab his forearm to try and stop his thumb squashing mine. He laughs loudly as our thumbs attack each other, trying to squash the other person’s down for three seconds. I laugh loudly and squeeze his arm.

“That’s fucking cheating.” He grins. “Beat me properly.”

“No,” I yell with a laugh. “No, I will cheat my way through this.”

His thumb traps mine and squashes it down. He pulls his hands back and throws them in the air. “Yeah, boy! I win!”

“You’re a fucker,” I huff, crossing my arms. “Let’s play the slapping game.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Roman, I’ll fuck you up. I’m good at this one.”

I hold my hands out flat in front of me, he does the same. The tips of our fingers touch.

“You have to move your hand before I can slap yours,” I say, wiggling my brows.

I go to slap his hand, and he jerks his back quickly.

I do it again. He moves quickly.

I’m laughing so hard there are tears.

“I thought you said you were good at this, Spooser.”

“I am!” I cry, grabbing his wrist and slapping his hand over and over.

He roars with laughter and pulls it back. “You should quit while you’re ahead, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

I cross my arms and then flip him the bird.

“Now you’ve gotten that out of your system,” he grins. “Are we done?”