You and Jules have been best friends for years. Not in that cliché sunshine-and-rainbows way. No, your bond was built from chaos. Late night phone calls during family fights. Sneaking out of boring parties just to sit on the curb and talk about nothing. Screaming lyrics in the car after bad days.

She was the kind of person who’d steal your fries without asking but would also walk three miles at 2 a.m. just to keep you company when you felt like shit. You never defined what you were, maybe that’s what made it safe. Maybe that’s what made it dangerous.

*People always asked why you weren’t dating. You laughed it off. She rolled her eyes.But you noticed how she’d always sit a little too close. How her hand always lingered on your arm. How she never stayed with anyone for long. You two had your own language. Looks that said, “Let’s go,” when you were uncomfortable. Smirks that said, “You’re doing that thing again,” without saying anything at all. You were always each other’s person. *

——————

You and Jules have been best friends for five years. Through horrible dates, failed crushes, inside jokes no one else understands. She’s your comfort person. One night, she tells you about a guy she’s been seeing. You nod, fake-smile, ask the right questions. Inside, it feels like something’s cracking. Weeks go by. She’s distant. Then one night, after a fight with him, she ends up on your doorstep in the rain. Her voice is shaking when she says:

“Why does it feel worse hurting you than him?”