The Best Helper

“I can do this. I just need to--”

“Your wife isn’t going to accept this, and you know it.” I demanded Derek to put down his debit card. Too late. The transaction approved. With a relieved sigh, Derek lowered his phone and card.

Defeated, I slouched on the other end of the couch. Disappointment flooded my stomach. Instead of bile clogging my throat, it was warm air. “Derek…”

“I need to help these girls, Mark. They need my help. I’m the only one that can help them.”

“Winning lottery tickets doesn’t make you a millionaire, Derek!” I shot my hand out to present his phone. “These online girls don’t even care about you! They just want your money.”

“I know…” His thinning red hair covered his eyebrows, yet clearly exposed his dark circles and damp eyes. “And that’s okay.”

“Mariah won’t put up with this anymore. What happened to you saving that money for retirement?”

“I’ll win another ticket.”

“The odds of you winning again are very slim, my friend.” My hand slid against my shaved head. The freshly cut hair tickled my hand, giving me enough sensation to calm myself. “Not every sad story deserves your attention, and you ‘helping’ is making your life more miserable.”

My dearest friend of eleven years always had one key flaw: he wanted to be useful. No matter who it was, what history they had, or where they’re headed, Derek Silvestri needed to help. His family were very independent, and they required only their own backs and willpower to get them through life. Derek matched the requirements of the Silvestri household: smarts, beauty, abundant networks, and high wealth. Emotionally, Derek plummeted into depression in his 30s and he suffered from this even when we met in his 40s.

Mariah, his wife of five years and a friend of mine by circumstance, is an independent woman herself, only requiring her husband to be there when she needs him, which isn’t very often anymore. The workaholic at the fine age of thirty-five matches the standards of beauty and refinery of society – and of the Silvestri family – yet even from the first day of their relationship, Mariah hardly meets Derek’s emotional needs.

Within the span of 3 years, Derek won 3 mega million lottery tickets. Even the distributors wondered if there was a glitch in their system. Nope. Within one night, Derek became a multimillionaire. Mariah congratulated him and continues to work – her ultimate passion. Derek wished to pay for her spas and girls’ trips, for her clothes and makeup, but Mariah was insistent that she pays her items herself – she did thank him for wanting to.

With no children or family to give to, Derek attempted to dump money onto his friends. The hiccup? I’m his only friend and borrowing from anyone makes me highly anxious.

One year ago, Derek met a girl online. “Jenny” was her name. She adored books and wanted a wardrobe to match her aesthetic. One phone call later and he’d sent the girl $5,000 for her dream wardrobe. Derek hadn’t told me about a thing until a few months ago. By then, he’s sent thousands of dollars to over fifty girls that “needed help.” The only reason Mariah found out is because Derek made these expenses using their shared account, and she hadn’t noticed anything weird because there was so much money in the account that she didn’t look at the numbers for months. Once she found out, Mariah demanded him to stop. He didn’t. He just used the money in his private accounts.

Today’s girl is “Hannah” and she wanted $50,000 to pay for her student loans. No payment arrangements. Just straight money. By now, the money in his private account was at least $100, according to Derek, and the shared account still had a few million. From what Derek told me last week, Mariah was at her breaking point. This might end their marriage.

Derek finally looked up at me. His blue eyes, once stunning and bright, looked like a dark sea. “It’s all right.” He lounged back on his couch. “Mariah will understand. We have the means to help so many.”

“The months’ worth of arguments have told you nothing?”

“Mariah will come around,” he sternly said. I closed my mouth and eyed the floor. “I will win the lottery and we will continue to help those in need.”

I left his house with chains at my ankles and an anchor in my chest. Returning home to my own wife didn’t soothe me like it usually did. When she saw the shadows on my face, she quickly ran a bath for me and offered a plate of dinner, ironically my favorite pasta. Allowing myself to breathe in the reprieve of my own life, I let go of Derek’s situation and relaxed for the evening.

I received a text the following morning from Mariah. They’re getting a divorce. Within less than a day, Mariah left the house with her essentials and declared she’s staying with one of her sistership sisters who lives in town. I ignored the texts from Derek and barely responded to Mariah’s. Something told me things were getting worse from here.

A few months pass and I don’t hear from the Silvestri’s. This is a much-needed reprieve until my cousin visited. My teenage cousin visited me some months later and nearly threw her phone at me to show me something. There was a post on one of her socials titled, “The Best Helper.” He’s a man that gives money to those that need it. It was Derek’s face posted right at the top of the article.

“Isn’t that your friend?” My cousin asked. I told her it was, and she sank to her chair. “I feel bad for him. My friend conned him and said she needed $1500 for groceries, and he gave it to her within a day. I thought it was a scam at first until her bank confirmed its authenticity.”

Months after that, Derek’s popularity skyrocketed…until there was nothing. Not a single word of “The Best Helper” coursed through the internet. By now, almost eight months passed since we last spoke.

One day, I received a phone call from an Unknown number. Prone to scammers, I usually didn’t answer. This time, I did. “What?”

“Hey.” Derek’s soft voice came through. “Hey, friend.”

He never spoke to me that way…

I sighed and drew in whatever patience I could muster. I didn’t have any. “I don’t have any money for you, Derek.”

The call ended.