Thorn

I drive to Hannah’s apartment; fully prepared for the endless amounts of times I will be told ‘I told you so.’

When she answers the door, there’s a smirk on her face. I hold my hand up, stopping her when she opens her mouth.

“I know,” I say simply, rolling my suitcase in and shuffling past her, leaving it by the door and walking over to the couch. She follows after shutting the door behind me and plops down at my side.

“I told you so,” she nudges my arm, making me roll my eyes and throw my head back against the back of the couch.

“I know,” I repeat.

“I told you he was a selfish no-good fighter with nothin’ to give.”

I’m quiet. She’s quiet too. She means well. She’s my quirky best friend, with wide, wild blue eyes and short, puffy green hair in two buns, one on either side of her head. She’s my alien girl. But, she never liked Tommy. She didn’t like the way he ever looked at me, or the way he treated me, from the very first day I met him. Says that even his name alone makes her skin crawl.

Me? I don’t know how to feel toward him at the moment.

I think I always saw more in him, though, than what they public eye saw; more than even our friends saw. The way he'd look at me and only give the faintest smile, but his eyes said so much more than what he's ever been able to vocalize. The way we hooked our pinkies together whenever we went anywhere together. The way he'd pull me onto his massive, muscular body at night when he couldn't sleep, because the weight of my frame helped to calm him down and reassure him that he wasn't alone. We had our ups and downs, and I'm sure that if I made a list, there would be infinitely more downs than ups, but...

Hannah clears her throat, interrupting my thought process. She asks me if I want any tea and I’m quick to nod my head. A few minutes go by as she swiftly moves around in her kitchen and I dance my thumbs around each other in quick circles in my lap, staring at them and trying to numb my mind. Drifting off and allowing myself to think is never a good thing. I shouldn't be allowed to do that.

A little floral teacup and plate are handed out in front of me, and I gently take hold of the fragile plate. I pick up the cup and sip. She has a cup of her own in her other hand.

“Chai’s my favorite,” I comment as I slowly continue to sip, careful not to burn my tongue.

“I know,” she mimics me now.

We sit in silence for a long while, but it’s comfortable. She notices my teacup is empty and stands up, taking it from my hands.

“You want more?”

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

She disappears into the kitchen once more.

“You know I’ll get you to tell me what happened this afternoon,” she calls out to me, confidence overrides in her strong, yet dainty voice. I smile faintly.

“I know.”