I'm not better.

My paint brushes are collecting dust, they haven't been used in ages. All of my lighters have been taken away because Mom saw me burn the painting I was most excited about. I burnt it safely, but she screamed something about growth and remembrance. Needless to say, I got a long lecture. 

 It was my favorite art piece because it has a certain simplicity to it. Anyone could interpret it how they wanted. It looked like something that would be in an art museum. It held an overall dark meaning, hidden behind the light color palette. Everyone loved it and had their own meanings. Anxiety, depression, struggles of life, growing up, etc. Those things got to my head and I got worried. It started to hit too close to home. My artwork started to rebel against my normally chill style and grew darker and darker. 

I burnt it because it started to reflect on me. It started to point out my insecurities.  It wasn’t just a painting. It was me, hidden beneath the layers of drying paint. My name appeared in more than just the signature, but the posture. The hate. The urge to do nothing and sulk in my own problems. Everything about it screamed me and I couldn’t stand it. I still can’t. My interpretation turned into hatred. 

My phone rings on the bedside table and I groan. In order to answer it, I’d have to roll over and I’d just gotten comfy. I’m not that lazy though, so I do. I roll over and look at who's calling me in the middle of the night. The name reads Sabby, but it's surrounded by nonsense emojis of her choosing. I sigh and press the bright green ‘answer’ button. Here’s how the conversation went:

“Hello? Charlotte Auburn? That you? It- it's been so long I don’t even know if I have the right number!”

“Haha, very funny Sabby.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.” 

“What's up?”

“I’m bored.”

“....”

“Wanna go do something?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon Char. We haven’t hung out in ages.”

“Sabb-”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Everyones aslee-”

She hangs up. She lives five minutes walking distance away, but she's being generous and giving me ten minutes to get myself (or herself) ready. If we’re going out I need to look somewhat presentable. It's near midnight though- no one is going to see me. 

The closest is what I hate most about my room. It hides all the paintings that started to reflect me, but I can’t burn because of my lack of lighters. Although I shoved them in there so deep I can barely see them, it still hurts just knowing I was once so unbothered. I know why people unfriended me over them now. I was insensitive, even if the hurt wasn’t my intent. Their interpretation turned into hatred for me. 

For now, I scavenge through my drawers for something to wear. 

Black leggings with a bright green graphic tee with illegible graffiti on it. That's what I’ve chosen to go out in. My hair slips up into a simple ponytail and I throw on some mascara. It seems simple but by the time I’ve finished, someone throws a lipstick case at my window. 

I forgot makeup. I hate being barefaced, but  I can sense Sabby's impatience through the window. I open it fully and peek my head out. 

“I’ll be down in a sec,” I assure her.

I can see her eye-roll from the second floor, “Be quick!” She whisper yells. It’s not like we have to be super careful not to wake my parents up because they’d be overjoyed if they knew I was going out with Sabrina, but they like their sleep. My door creaks open and I wince at the sound, silently screaming at myself.

Going outside trans.

I successfully made it downstairs and out the door with a pair of black hightop Converse in hand. Sabrina is mindlessly walking in a circle, but her face lights up when she sees me. Her eyes linger on my hair and I consciously touch it. The length was untouched in my late-night crisis, but the color changed from a deep brown to a patchy dark red.

“I like it.” She states. It's been only a week since we last saw each other, but as Mom said ‘I’m letting my emotions show in my hair’. The messy at-home color is a good representation of my current emotions.

“Thanks.” I bend down to put the converse on and she lowers herself to my level.

“Hey,” hair falls onto her face, “are you okay?”

The question hangs in the air as I finish tying my shoes. It’s a difficult question, one I don’t even know the answer to. 

Shrugging, I stand back up. “Where’re we goin'?” 

Concern flashes across her eyes but it quickly fades out, “Gas station. They have some good snacks.”

My attempted subject change worked perfectly, though it’ll probably be brought up in a later conversation. She can’t let things go easily.

Sabby starts to walk in the direction of the gas station, the street lights illuminating our path. Even at midnight, it's loud. The constant hum of crickets and occasional dog barking or owl hooting. It's never truly quiet.

All of the house lights are off, everyone is asleep and waiting for tomorrow. The puddles wait for a kid to splash in them, the trees waiting to shed their leaves. Rain made everything seem dark and droopy.

“Soooo…” Sabby shatters the silence. I look up from the road and we make eye contact. I wait for her to finish the sentence but she never does. We just walk and stare at each other, the silence growing more uncomfortable by the second. “What have you been up to?” She asks. 

I put my hands in my pocket and lose the staring contest, my eyes darting back down to the pitch-black asphalt. “Nothing much really. What about you?” I dryly respond.

“Well me and Jacob went to the skating rink on Saturday. We tried to invite you, but you didn’t reply to my texts.”

A wave of guilt washes over me. I can feel her looking at me, waiting to see if I apologize. Her burning stare wins, as always. “Sorry.”

“It's fine- I’m just- it's not…. We’re worried about you Char.”

We. A dog barks in the distance, making me jump slightly. She softly smiles, like I’m some sort of bomb, ready to explode. 

“Don’t be.” 

“I am though. You’ve just kinda disappeared on us.” 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” I plead. While there isn’t anyone to hear us, she did make me come out so I intend to try and enjoy tonight. She sighs and pulls out her phone.

“Do you care if I invite Jacob?” She asks after another moment of stifling silence. I introduced Jacob and Sabrina, and they started dating. It seemed perfect, my childhood friend dating my almost-best-friend. Until it wasn’t and I was treated as a third wheel. “I don’t have to. It can just be me and you,” She assures me as if she can sense my hesitation.  

“I don’t care. You can invite him.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I said I don’t care,” I repeat, a little louder this time. Our conversation has been at just above whisper level, until now. She looks slightly startled, her eyes darting from me to the phone in her hand.

“Okay. I’ll tell him not to come.”

While I don’t despise them separately, I do hate their relationship. Those two are the definition of ‘couple goals’, and while I don’t want to get in the way of that, I also don’t want it to happen.

“Thanks,” I reply, even though it was her own choice. She puts the phone in her brown across-the-body bag and I can feel her eyes on me again. Sabby has developed quite a staring problem since we last met. 

“Why’d you-”

“What's your favorite color?” I ask louder than her. I cannot handle questions about myself right now, because honestly, I don’t even know the answer. Nor do I have the energy to come up with some strong, believable, I’m-okay-I-promise lie.

She looks shocked that I talked over her. “Uh- it's- it's yellow.” She stammers. I internally cringe at the color, but outwardly smile at her answer

“What kind of yellow?” This question requires her to talk within herself, which earns me another few seconds of silence. I can see the gears in her head turning as she tries to come up with some accurate example. If she says the sun I’m turning around and running back home.

“Kinda like honey? Ya know, the dark, golden yellow. None of that overly-bright neon crap.”

I nod along as she talks, visually coming up with a color that matches what she's described. She turns to me, “What about you?”

“What? My favorite color?” I shouldn’t be as surprised that she turned the question back on me- I’d do the same thing. Anyone would. It is the first step in getting to know someone.

“And the kind of color.” She adds, nodding. I use this time to take in our surroundings. We aren’t far from my house, so the neighborhood is still familiar. It’s only another minute or two until we get to the gas station. 

The color. Purple is a simple answer, but since I did it to her, she expects a more in-depth answer. Lilac purple seems too widespread. I need something sort of unique. Something to show I’m not just giving a generic answer. 

“Plum purple,” I answer. 

Not exactly unique…

“Lovely shade. Why didn’t you dye your hair that color?” She asks without hesitation. 

If it wasn’t midnight and this was a dream that wouldn’t make me lose my best friend, I’d scream at her to stop bringing the conversation back to me. It's reasonable questions that make me want to lose my crap. I have no reason to feel this way towards her or her innocent questions. Somethings wrong with me.

Instead of waking up everyone, I just shrug. She playfully hits my shoulder, “C’mon Char. You’ve changed, and I’m trying to get to know the new you.”

The gas station lights come into view and I nearly sign relief. The walk home should be quiet as we munch on the snacks.

“As much as I want to appreciate the effort you putting forth, don’t.” I really don’t want to lecture her on my mental state. I just need a break.

“Why not? I want to be your friend, Charlotte.” She states. Oh no, the full name. So scary. Shiver-me-timbers.

 I can nearly feel her confidence- the trying to stand her ground confidence. “Sabrina,” I use her full name too, “I just can’t keep up with our friendship. You- you're living your life, and I’m not.  As much as I really do love you, I’m a lost cause right now. You need to move on and I’ll catch up when I’m ready, but right now is not the time.”

Those words have been written down for months, forever ingrained in my brain. There's more than that, but a little piece seemed fitting. I wrote it with the intent not to use it. I somehow guessed she’d press the matter- my matter- too much.  I keep my eyes trained on the road. I can hear her voice about to break.

“I- Charlotte it's heartbreaking to see you like this. You're better than whatever this is. I-" She inhales shakily, "I just want my friend back.” She cries. I meet eyes with her and hers are glassy. 

“I just want my life back,” I snap under my breath, low enough for her not to hear.

“What?” She whispers back, louder than I did.

“Let's get snacks.” I change the subject again, speed walking towards the nearing doors. She matches my pace and I squint at the too-bright LED lights.

One lonely worker stands behind the counter, but he's playing on his phone.

I reach the doors first and hold them open for her, the smell of her vanilla perfume lingering. We have the same perfume. I remember the day we bought it together at the mall, it was before she and Jacob started dating. Before he was attached to her like a leech and ‘best friend time’ turned into ‘date time with Charlotte third wheeling’.

I follow her in, shaking the memory of the perfume from my head. 

The cashier barely glances at us as we walk in. I think he’s a senior at my school, but I’m not sure. Even if he was, I doubt he could recognize me.