It Would've Been You

I

"𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘, 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄?" Sydney, my best friend of nine years, peers over my shoulder to read the sentence I had written in our matching journals. I didn't understand why she needed to write about her week. Why would I want to relive the past five days by writing words on a lined paper sheet?

"C'mon, Mora." She frowns. "I'm sure something good happened to you this week."

I stifle a laugh. "My therapist said my anger management skills are improving. ." She clasps her hands like that was the best news she had heard all week. "That's great! That means–"

"slowly." I finish my sentence.

"Oh." Her excitement settles. "Well, that's still something." She tries to comfort me, but I know it's just out of pity. I wonder how she puts up with my nihilism. And why she does. I act like I'm one foot in the door of death. I don't want to believe I'm alive half the time.

She holds herself together, even when the world is crashing down. If anything, she's my polar opposite. Literally. Valedictorian, President of the Debate Club, and the perfect daughter. Or at least, that is who she wants to be for her parents.

There are a lot of layers to Sydney – secrets she keeps buried beneath her innocent smile and soft-spoken voice, but I could say that about anyone. We all have something to hide about ourselves.

For one, no one knew that she had fucked Zion Harper in his car during our school's baseball tournament at the end of junior year. No one except me. I was the only person she told anyway.

"Do you remember Luke?" Sydney begins, "The Quarterback, with curly brown hair?" She tries to remind me. "The one who has a college girlfriend?" I cock my head, hoping I'm referring to the right person.

"Yes!" She beams before continuing, "Apparently, he was doing cocaine in the boys' locker room. Now he's suspended." She says cocaine like it's a word that could land her in jail.

"You should've come to school today." She whispers, clicking her favorite multicolored pen.

I could explain why I didn't go to school today by the piles of glass in the garbage. My dad had another episode last night. Luckily, my sister and I cleaned everything in the kitchen before she came. But I won't tell her that.

"I had cramps. Bad." I lie.

Her face turns to one of concern. "Oh, I could've skipped school too. My mom usually makes–"

"No," I say, almost dismissively. "I mean, it's fine. I'm okay now."

"Oh-kay. ." She mumbles, not bothering to say anything more. She knew about my dad. She knew how difficult staying in this house was sometimes. She knew about my self-harm. She knew too much.

But I trusted her with my life. And I didn't even trust myself with that at times.

Her lips fold into that perplexed what-should-I-say-now look while she packs her journal into her neatly assorted backpack, her pens in rainbow order, and her laptop in the largest compartment.

After a few minutes of silence, which is normal – she sighs. Loudly. In hopes that I will snap out of my daze. I do that a lot. Daydream. It's my way of disassociating from the outside world. "You're not coming to school tomorrow?" She already knows the answer.

"Probably not."

"Will you at least come over tomorrow evening? My mom is throwing a cheesy birthday party for my little brother. I need someone there so I won't go insane." Sydney jokes.

"Aren't we all a little insane already?" My lips curl into a grin. Then we're laughing. Neither of us knows what for. I lay next to her, closing my eyes. She is one of the few people I enjoy being around.
—

I knock on Sydney's door, standing awkwardly outside her house. I'm sweating under this knitted hoodie, but it's the only colorful thing I could find in my closet. I never wore shirts unless I was in the comfort of my room. They brought too much attention to my arms.

I wasn't embarrassed by my scars, but people were more disgusted by them than anything, especially when kids were around. So I pull the sleeves down and put a smile on my face.

"Morgan, honey!" Sydney's mom opens the door, pulling me into a hug before I consider stepping inside. She hands me a tray lined with little brownies and pushes me toward the living room, kissing me on the cheek. "Go on, Syd is doing face painting. I'm sure she needs your company."

Sydney shares a lot of traits with her mom. They're both perfectionists. Everything has to look exactly how they imagine, or they'll redo it. Over and over again. I kneel beside her, putting the brownies on the coffee table. "Where are the other parents?" I ask, looking around.

Her house is cozy and quite big, yet every inch is maintained. It's a contrast to mine. If her mom ever came over, I'm sure she'd lose it at the sight of all the beer bottles in our living room.

"In the backyard." She sighs, swirling her paintbrush in turquoise paint. "We're on babysitting duty."

"No way," I say, popping a brownie into my mouth. Sydney shrugs. "At least we're getting paid. The adults just wanted a reason to get drunk."

I scoot closer to her, watching the kids run around the house while she tries to keep one on her lap as she finishes her floral design. Babysitting has its fun moments. I love kids, although I'll never have some of my own. I've seen first-hand what bad parenting can do to someone.

I don't want anyone to go through what I've been through.

Syd and I spend the remaining evening playing party games, hoping to tire the children enough for them to fall asleep. The parents come inside, and her dad pays us both. We sneak upstairs before the parents can ask for anything else.

"At least I'm twenty bucks richer." She smiles, walking up the stairs. We go to her room, and I flop myself onto her bed, looking at the Polaroid pictures on her wall. "So what now?" She joins me, bringing her knees to her chest. I face her.

"What's going on with you and Zion?" I regret asking the question because of the silence that follows. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to bring him up."

"No, it's okay." Sydney sighs.

"I think he has a girlfriend now. I saw her. She was sitting on his lap," She frowns. "How could I think he'd ever be interested in me? Zion's surrounded by pretty, popular girls. I can't meet those standards."

I watch her shatter her self-esteem with every word. My hand rubs her back lightly.

I never got the rave about the popular clique. They are attractive. That's all they have going for them. However, guys like Aiden Miller and Cameron Grey? The girls kissed the floor they walked on, and the teachers never looked in their direction.

"Most of those girls are zombies with big boobs and too much body tan." I shrug. "I don't know. I'd get tired of hanging around them every day. You're different. You have a personality, Sydney. And if he doesn't see that, he isn't right for you."

She smiles, "What would I do without you?" Her arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in her neck. I was never a hugger. I hated touching people because I was afraid of judgement.

The first time I ever self-harmed, I cried. I convinced myself that no one would love me again. Who would ever love a girl who ruins her body? I locked myself in my room that day. I hated myself for it. My dad found out a week later and scorned me from that day on.

I never received the comfort I needed, and I continued hurting myself, using it to cope with my feelings. It took me a while to open up to Sydney. Or anyone. When I got my first boyfriend near the end of middle school, I was disgusted by the thought of affection. He'd try to hug me, a simple gesture, and I would avoid it. When I finally allowed him to touch me, I threw up.

I tuck my hair behind my ear. I was naturally a brunette, but I decided to dye my hair. It was the first step I made in changing myself. I started using makeup as my therapy until I couldn't leave my house without being fully covered in cosmetics. If my younger self saw me right now, she'd laugh. She wouldn't even recognize me.

"Can I smoke in here?" I ask, pulling away from her. Syd furrows her eyebrows, "My mom doesn't like the smell." I clasp my hands, giving her my best doe-eyed face. "Please?"

It takes a little convincing, but she opens her window, and I light a cigarette, looking at her.

"What?" I ask. She walks over to me, stealing the cigarette. "Just thinking about what's going to happen after senior year. I'm not ready for this to end."

I lean on her shoulder. "Me neither."