Lucy loses her friends, and her softball game

I never knew how getting punched in the face would feel. I figured I could imagine it pretty well, I’d been hit on accident before, tooth bloodied by a softball to the mouth at my second ever game at eleven years old. I remember my face flushing hot as I touched my mouth with a slightly shaky hand, pulling it back to see red blots on my fingertips. Tears welled in my eyes as I sobbed an ugly childish cry, teammates running over to comfort me. This was different. Maybe it was the intention behind it, or the impact of a human hand rather than the surprisingly hard “soft” ball. Maybe it was because it wasn't really a punch, emotion dissolving it into more of a half slap involving knuckles. Or maybe, it was because it was from my best friend. Regardless of the reason, It hurt like a bitch. 

It left me gasping before I felt her hands on me again, this time grasping at my shirt or my hair, just whatever she could grab in her blind desperation. I barely had time to react. I was confused, I thought I might be dreaming as I went into autopilot. She shoved me away with a small yelp, her eyes locked onto me with disdain I never dreamed I would see from her. The same eyes that smiled at me upon my arrival earlier this evening at her house. 

It was 9:30 PM when I arrived, peeling my quivering hands off the steering wheel and tucking them between my thighs to stop their tremors. The porch light turned off in her driveway because of how long I sat in my car, mustering the courage to go inside and do what I knew needed to be done. I had the screenshots of Carter’s messages to me on my phone in my purse sitting in the seat next to me. Burning its way through the contents of my bag and through the bottom of my car. She was going to be heartbroken, and for that reason alone, I almost turned heel and drove home, taking Carter’s secret with me and away from Molly. The thought made me take a sharp breath, launching into action and immediately growing balls. I snatched my bag as I marched to her front door, knocking vigorously. She deserved to know, she deserved better than him. Anyone deserves better than Carter Miller. However, now, staring at her, chest heaving with anger, I realized that she might not see it that way. I stumbled back and grabbed at my nose. 

“You’re a fucking liar!” She shrieked, “You’re a jealous slut. You’ve always been jealous of me.” My mouth gaped behind my hand, feeling the dull throb in my face. “You could never be happy for me and Carter. Always hung up on your past with him. Get fucking over it! He doesn't want you, he never has, and he never will. Why is that so hard for you to process?” She clenched and unclenched her fists like she was going to go in for another swing, I could see from where I stood that her knuckles were red and swollen. We stood and stared at each other for a long minute, fury consuming her usually soft features. I felt sick, the kind of sick where bile sits in your throat and you have to close your mouth to breathe through your nose so you don’t puke. I couldn't understand what was happening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I revisited earlier this night when I held both of her hands on her loveseat couch, a worried expression painted on her face as my mouth dried, uttering the words I knew she wouldn’t want to hear. My phone now lay on the ground, the screen lay upwards and cracked, clean across the words, “I regret not choosing you”. 

What Carter and I had was superficial at best, and nonexistent at worst. We went on two dates three years ago, the second one was a double date involving Molly and a guy from her class. Her date was decent looking enough, nice clean shave, and bright blue eyes, but he was nothing next to Carter. Carter was 6’3 with dark brown locs, so dark that they looked black in the bowling alley lighting. He had matching dark brown eyes and a smile that shocked and amazed, hovering a whole foot overtop of Molly. Almost instantly, I could tell that she was absolutely taken with him. I could hear it in her voice how badly she wanted him for herself. Her eyes never left my date, constantly teasing him and making jokes, and leaving me and mr. second best to watch. I loved Molly, far far more than any man I had ever gone on a date with, so It was only natural to do what I could to insure her happiness. After this revelation, I continued to see him, only to give Molly an excuse to come along. One night, the three of us were in his small and cramped apartment, the sweltering summer heat absolutely unbearable. All three of us were watching some random hallmark romance movie with me stuck sitting stiffly in the middle. His long arm slung over the back of the couch and around me. I coughed uncomfortably and stood up, attempting to muster up a convincing disappointed expression while I made an excuse to leave, spewing some bullshit about an assignment that needed my attention back at my dorm. They both seemed a little disappointed but when I gave Molly a subtle thumbs up on my way back out, she perked up immediately. The next morning I get a knock on my door, opening it to reveal a sniffling Molly, her cheeks tear stricken and her eyes puffy. I immediately welcomed her inside, assuming the worst in that Carter had rejected her. However, I was relieved to hear through her pitiful hiccups that they had kissed. She was crying because she felt so guilty for “taking my man” as she described it, punctuating it with sobs while I just laughed and shook my head. She looked at me with a confused expression and asked why I was laughing. I consumed her in a bone-shattering hug and told her how happy I was for her. This unleashed another onslaught of tears into my ratty sleep shirt, but I couldn’t have been happier. Ever since, we had all remained close friends, and it rarely ever got weird between the three of us. I was thrilled for her, and relieved that I no longer had to pretend to care about Carter’s car obsession. All's well that ends well. Until tonight, obviously. 

I was working at my desk job at around 3:00 in the afternoon when I got his messages. My heart dropped to my feet and my blood ran cold as I read that first line, “I literally cannot sleep a minute without getting this off my chest.” I shut off my phone and sat upright, staring blankly at my computer screen. Scared to read his next words, I quickly tucked my phone in my jean pocket and excused myself from the front desk to hide in the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and hunched over, tapping on my messaging app after several minutes of deep breathing and gripping my knees to ease the nerves. After reading his confession with a devastating lump in my throat, I swiftly screenshotted all the messages before he could realize there was a reason I never responded to them. 

Molly then took a very deep breath, her shoulders squaring as she stood up straight, staring into my eyes with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen her wear. 

“I need you to leave,” she whimpered, “you’re the reason this is happening to me. I never want to see your face again, do you hear me?” Her voice began to raise in anger, “Everything was perfect and you’re fucking it all up!” I flinched at her voice, remnants of her sweet laughter and gentle voice evaporating. I glanced down at my phone again, the screen now dark as I bent down, picking it up and without another word. I spared her one more devastated glace as I left her house, her frame not moving an inch from its initial place as I closed the door. The walk back to my car felt numb, my face hurt and I barely registered that my phone was ringing in my hand as I stood outside my car, staring at my battered reflection. I hung up without seeing its ID and crawled in. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I looked at my phone. It was only 10. It had only been thirty minutes. My best friendship in the entire world, ended in a matter of minutes. Glancing below the time, I see that I have 5 missed calls from Carter, all with their corresponding 5 voicemails. I seeth silently while I grip my phone. I hate him. He’s selfish for his confession. He’s selfish for clinging onto me in the first place. He ruined everything. 

I get a text from him next, reading, “You told her? Are you kidding me? I thought you were better than this, Luce. I hope you're happy, you just ruined any chance of all of us being friends again.” I crack one humorless laugh before it devolves into hot, chest aching tears that burn my throat. Doesn’t he think I know that? I clench my teeth and throw my car into reverse as I back out of her driveway, attempting to see the road through my tears that I finally let escape my eyes. I sob that loud and ugly childish sob, wailing through the dark streets illuminated by the streetlights overhead. I decided that her punch hurt much, much worse than the softball did.