Best Friends

Maddox Christenson

CW: Sexual Assault

Saturday, November 19th, 2022. That was our last day together.

I’d wanted to spend that entire day with her. Just sitting around in my room, talking and laughing together all day long. We’d been planning it for weeks, and every time we talked we thought of a new thing to do. Listen to Djo’s new album together, sculpt little figurines of all the characters we made together, scour the internet in search of the cheesiest 80’s love song lyrics together, watch her favorite episode of The IT Crowd together, finish watching Over The Garden Wall together–we would do everything we could together.

We didn’t do any of that.

What really ended up happening was even better. She got to my house, and we joked and chattered on incessantly about anything and everything that came to mind as always, the moment we started talking we completely forgot about any of the activities we planned. The tide of our words overtook our plans; forced them to surrender to the current of our chemistry. It was amazing.

In the corner of my room sat an unopened box of temporary tattoo markers I’d gotten a while back. I’d mentioned them in passing while looking for other art supplies, and she suggested we tattoo each other. So, we did.

And then it started.

She’d been this way with me plenty of times before. All close, cuddly, and touchy. Any time we were together she’d shoot over to me like a magnet and do as she pleased. She’d cling to me, whisper barrages of compliments into my ears. She was assertive about it, too, always touching me anytime I’d walk by. Commenting on my body to no end. Pinning me down to land a peck on the cheek or neck (or anywhere, really). She was very insistent, very grabby–aggressive, even. But it was almost normal to me at this point. Maybe even kind of nice, sometimes.

This is just how she is, I’d tell myself. She’s just naturally a very touchy person. That’s just who she is. And you like who she is! You like this. You want this. So it’s okay.

But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t. No matter how you look at it. Because I told her before not to act this way with me.

“Please don’t do that,” I’d told her. “Don’t touch me like that.”

She’d continue to act this way anyway, and a conflict began to knot in my chest. On one hand, it felt nice. I liked it. I let it happen—invited it, even. After all, nobody else gave me this kind of attention, and a year ago I had even wanted to be more than friends, and communicated as much. She didn’t feel that way, so I moved on, and we continued being best friends. She acted like this then, too; hence my assertion that this is just how she is. This year, however, it felt far more intense than before. Her advances became bolder and bolder, and began to feel less and less in jest. That’s when the anxiety set in.

I knew she wasn’t interested in me. Not romantically. She told me that last year. She was actively interested in someone else. She laughed in the face of anyone who suggested it. So why was she acting like this with me? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t agree to this. In fact, I told her no. I said no to kisses. I said no to all the flirting. Was I not clear enough? Did it come off as a joke? Does she not care? Do I care? Am I too sensitive? Is this good? Should I stop complaining? What’s happening? What does she want? Why is she doing this?

Unease pounded my skull and tensed my shoulders as I spiraled. I enjoyed spending time with her more than anything in the world. I craved it sometimes, even. I felt lost without her. And yet I dreaded her so terribly. Just being around her put me on edge. Just hearing her voice, just saying her name it drowned me in anxiety. My heart sunk lower and lower into ominous uncertainty as reality caved in.

The reality is that I didn’t want this. The reality is that she was using me. The reality is that she was harassing me. And the reality is that best friends don’t do that.

So now? We aren’t.

Never Again

Sienna Hollingshead