Not My Fault...

But it wasn’t my fault… Her stomach churned as she hung up the phone, her ears still ringing from the angry accusations and verbal abuse.

It really wasn’t my fault.

She had come home for winter break during her freshman year of college, anxious to meet up with her best friend and the rest of the “gang.” When she walked into the corner bar, she spotted them at a table in the back.

Her best friend jumped up and hugged her warmly, then introduced her to her boyfriend. She had heard a lot about him during late night phone calls.

“Do you realize he would do ANYTHING for me? I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger. I gave him a chain, you know, for his birthday last week, and the clasp broke and it fell off in my car.”

She looked at him and smiled, surprised at how blue his eyes were, and how a dimple appeared in his left cheek when he smiled back.

“Well, I found it, and never told him. I returned it for my money back, and then asked him about it. He felt so guilty when I told him that it cost me almost two weeks’ wages!” Her laugh echoed over the phone lines.

She sat down to join them, sharing laughs and drinks with the other guys. She and her best friend were the only girls, but with the exception of him, she had been buddies with the three other guys for years.

He was quiet for a while, then asked, “Anyone up for pool?” She watched as his muscles flexed under flannel when he pushed himself away from the table to stand. Her best friend replied with an irritated wave of the hand. “You know I hate pool.” Then she turned. “Why don’t you play?”

She felt her face flush but tried to act nonchalant as she stood to join him. One of the other guys came as well. The three of them fell into a relaxed conversation, about pool, and school, and the upcoming holidays. She laughed a lot, and caught him looking at her when she did. She wasn’t used to the attention, best friend was always the one who got all the guys.

“By the way, I copied some of your poems and gave them to him. You should have seen how impressed he was with MY writing. You don’t mind, do you?”

Of course she didn’t. Most of her poems were written to a ghost-love anyway, the really personal ones she didn’t share. She knew it wasn’t the first time best friend had plagarized her work.

“You’re up.” His voice brought her back to the game. He had a deep, velvety voice, and it gave her chills. She took her shot, sank the ball, and won the game. Her other friend let out a whoop, and he just smiled at her. When she smiled back, he gave her a wink.

When they returned to the table, best friend stood up and linked her arm with his. “You were gone so long,” she pouted. “Now I have to go home.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, hugged her, and suggested they all meet again the next night. With a wave she was out the door.

Eventually, the other three guys also left, leaving her alone with him. He asked her questions about college, and talked about his time in the service. She found him very interesting, and easy to talk to. Until he brought up best friend.

His eyes flashed as he asked her about her true feelings regarding best friend. Ever loyal, she defended her friend, trying to ignore the clips of remembered conversation buzzing in her head.

“He’s just so stupid, but God is he gorgeous! I love a guy who kisses my ass…”

She wished she had gone home earlier, when best friend did, because now her heart was pounding and she felt somehow guilty just for talking to him. With a stammered excuse, she got up and left, ignoring his “Will I see you again tomorrow night?”

When she fell asleep that night, she saw his deep blue eyes and heard his laughter in her dreams. She awoke with a smile, but quickly came back to reality. Best friend’s boyfriend. Not hers. There were lines that just shouldn’t ever be crossed.

Going against her better judgement, she met the same crowd at the same place that evening. Only this time, the electricity in the air was palpable. To her, at least. They played pool again, only this time his arm brushed hers several times during the game. And every time she looked up, it seemed he was looking at her. She tried to chat with best friend and get her to pay more attention to him – because it seemed that the more best friend ignored him, the more he paid attention to her. Once again, best friend left early, only this time, it was her intention to leave too.

As she got up, he grabbed her arm and said, “No – stay.”

She looked at best friend, who had been halfway out the door. Best friend turned and looked first at him, then at her. With an arrogant shrug, she said, “Fine. Stay with him. Apparently he needs to get his ass beat in pool again.”

But she knew that wasn’t why he had asked her to stay. She watched best friend leave, best friend who never even considered her competition in the man department. Best friend who had decided she liked certain guys on a whim, usually after she had liked them first. Best friend who never missed an opportunity to subtly put her down, especially in front of other people.

Was that really a best friend? She wondered. What, exactly, did she owe her anyway?

She sat down with him, and their conversation began innocently. She spoke of her writing, and her desire to continue doing so. “You wrote the poems, didn’t you?” he asked. “Best friend could never write like that.”

She didn’t audibly respond, but she nodded reluctantly. She really didn’t want to cause trouble, but since he already knew…

“And the chain? I could swear I lost it in her car – she found it, didn’t she?”

She saw the anger and hurt in his eyes as he came to this realization, and she put her head down. Best friend had lied to him, over and over, and here she was confirming it. “Yes.” Her answer was so soft, he had to lean closer when she said it. And after she did, she felt his hand under her chin, lifting her face to his. She looked into the eyes that haunted her dreams the night before and their lips met in a kiss that felt so right.

“When I read her poems, I thought I was falling for her,” he said, “when really I was falling for you.”

How should she respond? For once, she had gotten the guy, not best friend. For once, someone had seen through best friend’s charade and had seen into her soul. Part of her knew it still wasn’t right, but she allowed herself to fall anyway.

He told her he loved her, and that she was a special person. He made her feel special, and loved. He took her places physically she had never been. But always in secret. He swore that one day, he would end it with best friend, that they could be together forever. And she believed him, because she knew he would never lie.

For two weeks they stayed late at the bar, savoring their secret romance. For two weeks best friend was blissfully ignorant – not thinking for a minute he would ever be interested in her. Until the phone call came.

“You fucking BITCH! How could you?”

She felt her heart constrict, couldn’t form the words she wanted to say. She listened as best friend continued her tirade: he had come clean, admitted that she had seduced him, promised it would never happen again, never cared about her at all… The words were like knives to her heart. They couldn’t be true. But best friend continued her attack by saying she had better never show her face at the bar again, because everyone hated her now – EVERYONE. She was a lying, conniving slut and she never wanted to see her again. “I’m sorry,” she managed through hot tears, not believing that these words were being said about her…

Best friend hung up on her, and then she tried to call him. She had to hear his voice tell her it wasn’t true, that best friend had made it all up, that she was just jealous… But when he answered, his voice was cold. “Don’t call me again. Best friend found out and she’s really pissed. We’re over. You never should have come on to me in the first place.”

She sat holding the phone and looking at the receiver as if it were an alien. The sound of the dial tone told her he had hung up on her also, turned on her… and now she had no one.

But it wasn’t my fault.

It really wasn’t my fault.