Brutus

"See how he writhes himself, and speaks no word."

“…and you know, she told me like, literally everything about her life and I was thinking, how some people are so lucky…”

Ugh. I don’t care about what your coworker said. You always do this, parrot what others tell you. What do you find interesting in the dull moments of someone else’s life?

I should’ve known this was entertaining to you the moment we met and you asked me if I’d watched Love Island. I didn’t care to think about you then. I had her. You were just there—a simple side character during that season of my life. She had to end her contract with the creators for you to replace her.

It’s not like I miss her. I don’t. It’s just that, when I hear you talk, I keep thinking about how different conversations used to be.

We would talk about other people, sure. But it was different. We would talk about what they did, why they did it, why anyone would do what they did and what we would have done in their place. We would never be coherent. A random thought would pop in and the topic would change to books, and to celebrities, to astral projection, to past lives, to dogs and cats and maybe frogs and how someone we knew looked like a frog.

We had to remind ourselves it was sunrise and we needed sleep—a suggestion made only so we could ignore it and keep talking until we had to get ready for the day. We could never stop talking. I wouldn’t agree with everything she said but we could argue for hours, even with no clear resol—

“…because men are just trash, you know? Like, we deserve much better, right?”

“Oh, yes. I totally agree.” I smile and nod. “But I don’t think they’re all trash. Performing masculinity is the problem, I suppose.”

“Uh, yeah.” You stare at me like you can’t believe how ridiculous I look for saying it. “But I mean, they’re not even that hot. You know, my coworker’s husband literally…”

That gives me another fifteen minutes before you remember I’m here. You could’ve had this conversation with your mirror instead. I’m only background noise.

Well, I guess it serves me well. I was the one who made her leave with my constant sulking. At first, she told me those endless hours talking about feelings were fascinating. But like most conversations with her, it was just in theory.

In theory, she’d become a lawyer to defend people she believed were being wrongly accused. In practice, she’s now working as a legal something in some corporation. A stable job was worth more.

She looked down on me last time we spoke and told me I was making a huge mistake. Aspiring to make a career out of writing is for teenagers and drunks.

In theory, she despised people who posted pictures overlaid with 7 filters. In practice, she had plastic surgery. Someone told her she looked like Bella Hadid, except her nose and jawline. So she fixed them; now has a few thousand followers.

I’ve muted her profile, but against all better judgement, I still check her posts from time to time, despite never seeing anything that makes it worth it. Only earth-tone food and travel aesthetic. The version of her I knew would’ve spent hours mocking this one.

I should’ve known this would happen the first time she canceled our plans. She said she fell asleep and forgot. I understood. But then a few hours later, she posted the drinks she got with her trust fund friends she’d made three months ago.

I realized, I had become a problem in her life by then. When she introduced me to her new friends, I saw they were looking down on me. I was the kind of person they considered a failure.

“…right?” Your voice and contempt -filled eyes remind me I’m sitting in this wooden chair, and you’re staring at me.

“Yeah.” I nod, even though my heart is beating a bit harder than it should. “I was just thinking on how horrible it is.”

“Yeah, I know right?” Your eyes widen and you continue. “Exactly what I was saying. She cannot be serious in…”

Close one. I feel guilty for doing this to you because you’re here for me. But you don’t know me, no matter how much I try to show you.

I don’t miss her. She moved on with her life, just like I did. We headed in different directions. It’s almost understandable. But I don’t wish her well. Matter of fact, I wish her the worst. I hope she gets fired from all her jobs. I hope the friends she replaced me with all ghost her, just like she ghosted me. I hope the void inside her swallows her whole, until there’s nothing left inside.

Yes, I should wish her well and let go. But I won’t.

She was my best friend, and she traded me for the next shiny thing in front of her. She traded me for things she could buy. I would have never done that to her. I would have annoyed her, overwhelmed her, but I would have never betrayed her. She sat at tables where they dragged my name through the mud. She nodded and applauded, only for their acceptance. And she expected me to accept it. As if I meant nothing.

I changed her contact’s name to Brutus and a knife emoji on my phone. She rolled her eyes and told me she hated it. She asked me to change it back. I never did. That’s what she became to me.

I would never miss her.

But I guess I deserve this. I expected too much of her. Friendship isn’t supposed to be this suffocating. It’s supposed to be fun, light. It should add to your life instead of consume you. Constructive debates are preferred, until they get too personal. What’s personal about friends anyway? Why would she owe me any loyalty?

I should’ve left quietly. My last mistake was confronting her for answers I already knew she would give me. I made myself listen to her tell me how I’m impossible to endure. I’m too overwhelming, too emotional, too unpredictable, too childish and time-consuming. People get tired of your drama. Grow up.

I did grow, but in the opposite direction. I don’t think adulthood is supposed to be boring. I don’t think you’re supposed to change your ideals, your personality, just to perform at being someone you are not—to fulfill an abstract idea of what an adult should be. I believe you work with what you have, become who you are supposed to be. Earth has enough room for all of us. I didn’t realize adulthood meant more social cliques than high school.

If we were ever the same, it was a long time ago. We are no longer part of the same species. It wasn’t betrayal, right? That’s just what life is and that’s how much friends matter. We all part ways when life intervenes.

I can’t blame her for the hypocrisy. Things change, people change. I changed into who I said I would. I thought she knew this. Maybe she didn’t take me seriously enough to consider I was serious.

She became who she mocked. Maybe I was the one who shouldn’t have taken her seriously.

I don’t wish her well, even though I should. But if I had met her today, I would have never considered being friends with her. I know I would’ve found her to be an empty shell of a person. I wonder if she’s happy or just performing. It will never make sense to me.

And I know there was a knife there somewhere, in someone’s back. I just don’t know if it was hers or mine.