“The greatest gift you can give to someone is your time, because it’s like giving a portion of your life that you can never get back. “
11
Johannes’ smirk fades as soon as he sees my expression. I lock gazes with his warm brown eyes, possibly for the last time.
“I’m sorry.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I move to grab my bag from him. He catches my hands, intimately intertwining our fingers together. He squeezes them, and I feel something ache inside my chest.
“What’s up?” he says casually, but I can see in his trembling smile that he knows. He knows what the call is about. He knows what I’m about to do.
He knows that I am choosing Warren over him.
"I need to --"
“Don’t go,” he whispers. I can imagine him telling me to think about his efforts, to recall the good moments we spent together, to acknowledge that I am starting to have feelings for him. I can almost hear him say that now is the right time to prove to myself that I’ve truly moved on.
But he doesn’t say anything.
No pleas. No angry outbursts. No accusations.
My eyes are downcast.
Until the very end, he wants me to choose.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
It hurts.
I make my feet move. I can feel myself tearing into two. In time, I can only feebly hope that Johannes’ Carla will understand why I’m doing what I’m doing.
With each step, I promise myself that I will never regret this decision. That I will be unhappy if I leave and abandon my one and only best friend. That I have to sacrifice whatever I have . . . had with Johannes.
As soon as I climb the taxi, I cry.
I find Uncle and Aunt anxiously pacing along the corridors of the ICU wing. I practically run into their arms.
“How’s his condition?”
“Oh, Carla!” Aunt Sylvia pulls me into a hug, her nerve-wracking sobs the only noise in the practically empty hallways. “Thank you for coming.”
I simply smile as I hug her back. Uncle Angelo frowns into the distance.
I study his hardened jaws. “What happened?”
“I told him,” he states in a matter-of-factly tone. Aunt touches his arm. He stiffens.
“Is this about her?” I ask hesitantly, afraid of confirming my suspicions. They both look away. My heart pounds.
Warren. . .
Aunt Sylvia looks like she’s about to pass out, and is clutching onto her husband for support. “He woke up, but he was unstable. The doctors are seeing him now, but it seemed like he doesn’t. . . take stress that well,”
After a while, she adds, “He doesn’t know.”
Rachelle lied.
Rachelle lied.
YOU ARE READING
Best Friends
Short Story"Once you loved someone, you can never stop loving that person. Maybe more or maybe less, but it never stops." This is more than just a story. This is their reality. About a girl waiting in the sidelines, a boy who made his choices and their beautif...
