Feels Stories

Harmful Habits

The very first day our paths crossed, I was hooked. Marie was my best friend, my world. I loved her like a sister. Coming off from a family as an only child it was nice to have someone to look to for advice. We shared all our secrets, crushes, and clothes. You name it, we shared it. You could have sworn we where twins. Our incredibly close relationship carried over with the coming years, so much so that we even shared an apartment in collage.
The first semester went by very smoothly in her company. We'd stay up late on Friday nights, streaming Netflix. Marie talked about how she wanted to someday meet actors, or how amazing her new heartthrob was. I'd sit patiently, listening to her words. I couldn't get enough of those nights, her company seemed the most exciting thing to look forward to in my day. Until I noticed she was coming home later than usual. Suddenly ours Friday Night of Binge Watching became less relevant. She'd come home smelling like a rose garden, adored in a cocktail dress. After three continuous weeks of this nonsense I put two and two together to see the obvious. She'd been seeing someone. My assumptions were true when she outright told one morning. I heard the doorknob to our apartment jostle, followed by a thud. I pushed my way out of bed to see Marie missing a shoe accompanied by the heavy stench of liquor. I found my palm soon meet the left side of her face. Marie went reeling down into a sob, the imprint of the collision staining her cheek with a deep crimson. She wraithed in pain, her hands clasping her face. I gathered her in my arms, apologizing frantically. Ashamed at my actions, but still remaining severely disappointed in hers, I stopped my embrace. Marie's tantrum stopped as she stood up. I glared at her, a wave of displeasure invading my blank expression. She could see my disappointment, and greeted it with a healthy smack. I, unlike her, did not go reeling back or shed a tear. I merely began scolding her, going on about how she'd been abusing her well-being. Having listened to me ramble on about her obvious shortcomings, she formed the explanation of ,"I love him, and who's to say how much time I spend with him? It's my reletionship". I wanted to lunge at her, shake her back to being the Marie I knew. The one I love, the one I spent time with. But before I could move my apendages, she up and left. Out the door to her own room. And there I sat. I miserable little pile of denial. I cringed at the thought of my actions, I hurt her. Physically. I laid a physical action onto the only person I loved. I made her feel real fear. I hated myself, because I know what I'm capable of. How could I do that? I know why I feel empty, I'm jealous. I'm jealous that this guy, has come between us. I'm angry that I can spend even a lick of time near her, appreciate her company. Cherish every waking moment with her. And what now? This was the first time I'd ever felt disappointed in her, loathed the sight of her. And what does that say for me? Am I unsupportive? Too attached? Perhaps, I should push away. Make some distance, show her that I accept her life. She's not here to please me, it's her life now. Six days after the incident, I changed schools and moved out of that place. Marie didn't show even one bit of emotion as I left, not a goodbye nor a tear shed. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel anything. To anyone on the outside, I'd look like the most unfeeling being in existence, having shut myself off from people after the altercation. I cried after I settled in my new place. I curled into a ball, as if it where my only salvation. I cried, I'd lost, I'd remembered. It would take me six more months the ween myself of the urge to see her. I mourned her like she'd died. Then one day I woke up, with an odd feeling. It was a strange negativity, the kind that starts from deep within your gut, then floats up and up. Until you can't breathe. I sat in bed wheezing, my chest was heavy. Like I was being suffocated. My vision faded to a black, and I woke up to my phone buzzing, It was a number that I deleted long ago. It was my drug. My drowsy haze was broken by the sound of a frantic voice, a shrill whisper. Marie's voice was cold and shaken. "Please, please, please. Forgive me", she moaned out. "He's a monster, please". Marie's outcries where torn by outburst of stifled sobs. That feeling in my bosom swelled to panic, I hung up my phone and dialed 911. I don't recall much from my conversation with the operator, but from the news reports, I wasn't very collected. The next hours went by in a blur. I don't remember anything, only that I've counted everyday since her demise. Two years, eleven months, and three days later, I sit at her resting place. Her tombstone is overgrown with vines. Marie lays in the old part of the graveyard. It's forgotten, just as our friendship was the day I left. Even so, I'm still addicted. I will never stop seeing you, my sister.