Can I be honest

"Can I be honest with you?" I nod my head, not expecting anything aside from a token you'll do better next time, or things will work out you'll see. "Things didn't work out because you're a mess." I stared at her surprised and a little hurt. "Don't give me that look, it's true."  She sighed before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket, she offered one to me.

"No thanks I don't smoke." She shrugged before taking the cigarette she offered me for herself and lighting it.

"The reason things didn't work is because you're a mess, and I don't just mean with this job interview." She took a drag before she continued. "Look no one else is gonna say anything. You're a mess and you need to change. You don't do anything, you sit around and complain about how bad things are going for you." I opened my mouth to defend myself but she cut me off. "NO!" She shouted turning to look me in the eye for a brief moment before she turned back towards the balcony. "There's nothing wrong with complaining occasionally, I get it sometimes it helps to vent, but you don't vent you complain and whine and fight any suggestion that would help you."

"Things have been hard for me!" I snapped at her with more heat than I intended in my voice. She gave me a look from the corner of her eye, but made no move to Interrupt me. "I have been on a razors edge for a long damn time! So excuse me for not having my shit together." I turned to look her in the eyes and what I saw made my blood boil. She looked at me with pity and it pissed me off. "Don't give me that fucking look, I don't need your pity and I don't need this discount therapy session." 

"This is what I'm talking about. I'm trying to help you but you just kick, whine, and lash out. This isn't even the first time you've done this either." She paused to grind her cigarette out on the railing before she continued. "You always think that any attempt to help you is just pity or us not believing or trusting you. You have a problem, you spend most days drinking until you feel sick and then when I come over to make sure you haven't choked to death on your own vomit. What do you do when I get here? You lash out and call me a two-faced bitch and claim that I'm plotting against you!" 

The anger in her eyes was refreshing. It was better than the pity. "You're a fucking drunk, you act like you can afford to treat me like shit. Newsflash you don't have anybody fucking else! You've chased everyone else away, want to know why you didn't get that job." She shoved me. "You were three hours late and reeked of whiskey. You have a problem, more than one honestly you're drinking is part of it." Her hands shook violently as she reached towards me and grabbed the collar of my shirt. "The constant drinking, pushing people away, lashing out. You need help and soon, if this keeps going you're gonna be tearing yourself apart alone. I can't keep dealing with this." I grabbed her wrists and yanked them off me. She looked surprised but it didn't stop the snarl from entering my voice when I spoke.

"I don't have a problem. I don't need help. I'm fine! You act like I'm some type of lost cause that you can fix! Newsflash I don't need you to fix whatever problems you think I have. I'm perfectly ok, so I'm not your latest pet project to fix up. So STOP ACTING LIKE YOU CARE!" Pain exploded from the right side of my face, it took me a couple moments to realize she had slapped me. She looked furious. It scared me a little but I was too angry to back down.

"You think I'm acting like I care about you?! I worry myself sick thinking about if you're ok or not. I constantly worry that you might drink yourself to death. I cry myself to sleep some nights after I have to take care of you after you text me when you finish one of your benders." She had tears in her eyes and a scowl on her face as she stared me in the eye more angry than I had ever seen her before. 

"You think I'd put so much effort and worry so much about someone I just saw as a project to fix? Hell no! We've been friends for years I've been by you for the lowest points of your life, so trust me you need fucking help. What you're doing isn't helping and it's not gonna make things better." She let out a shaky breath as she turned back towards the balcony. 

"You're my best friend and I want to help, honestly I do, but you make it hard, your drinking has gotten worse and so has your temper. Something's gonna end up giving one of these days it's either gonna be your mental health, your physical health, or our friendship." I looked at her stunned, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye. "I can't keep doing this, you're killing yourself. I'm not gonna stand around and just watch you die. You wanted me to be honest, well I'm being honest." She turned and walked towards the door. I followed her not wanting her to leave.

"Wait!" She paused with her back to me. "What if I wanted help? What if I was scared and didn't know where to start?" She looked over her shoulder at me and stared at me for a moment.

"Well then I'd say call me tomorrow and we can go from there right now I need to be alone." She turned and walked out the door, I could only stare at the spot where she was before I started walking towards my kitchen. I opened my cabinet and reached for a bottle of whiskey before I unscrewed the top. I stared at the bottle before I poured it down the drain. I didn't think I had a problem or that my best friend would ever decide to just leave me, but I can't imagine my life without her.

"This was my last bottle too." I chuckled sardonically to myself as I watched the amber liquid go down the drain.