My friend has been in a horrific mood all morning. She's being rude to everyone, insulting them, moping and moaning. Of course, she has a perfect right to mope and moan. She's stuck by me through some pretty difficult times, she's been my rock for a year now. There have been times when I've hated her for doing things she had to do, but other times, I've been the one listening to her drunken sobs, I've been the one who forced down the tears when she told me things she shouldn't have, and I've been grateful to her for giving me the chance to give back just a fraction of what she gives to me.
Anyway, today she's feeling awful because she's been seeing this guy for over a year now, and nobody knows except me, because everyone gets mad when they hear about him seeing as he's gone out with three other girls we know and there's just a general feeling of hatred towards him. I try and comfort her, but for the first time in a while, I'm in a genuinely good mood, and she's completely bringing me down.
A little later on, we're sitting in the common room with half our year, and we get into a bit of an argument. She calls me something she knows will make me mad. And, sure as it'll rain in Milton Keynes tomorrow, I get mad. I can't think of anything to say. The words she herself told me a few months ago flash through my mind: "Violence is only used when one cannot verbally retaliate. It's for weak people." Nevertheless, the bottle of water is there in my hand, and I don't know what else to do, so I throw it over her.
Oh my god. Everyone's staring. They're all silent. I feel my legs moving, running away. I hide.
A few minutes later, she bursts in on the empty room I'm hiding in, and starts saying all this shit about how she has to be allowed to be upset once in a while. And I don't mean to say it, but suddenly I start screaming at her, screaming things that aren't true, things I don't want her to hear, things I can't control. She cries. She runs back to be consoled by everyone who saw, who probably sit and agree on what a horrible person I am and what's my problem and have I gone mad?
I made her cry.
Why don't I care? I love her, don't I? So why do I feel so... so satisfied? She's made me cry, a million times, usually from things she's said on the phone or on MSN, when she can't tell I'm crying. But she knows, she must know she makes me cry. So maybe this is my revenge.
Another friend comes in. They're all mad by association now, it'd be quite funny if I wasn't so worried. How could I do that to her, she says. How could I take a year of her being there for me and throw it all back in her face like that? What's wrong with me? I've really lost it this time, I'm really sick and twisted, she informs me. Then I leave. I sit for an hour on the deserted block stairs. I write stories in my head. I count the bricks on the wall.
I return to the common room. Someone has left my bag outside. I don't have to go in. I pick up my bag. It turns out I only threw a bit of the bottle of water on her. Someone has taken the remains and spilt it all over my books. I carefully take the bottle out. There's about a quarter of it left. I lift it over my head and tip it.