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You're a miserable person, Monica Naute, and I never want to see you again. There. I said it. Can't you see I just want you to disappear and never return? You're a useless waste of space. You make me sick with your crying and your cutting, your brooding and your angst. People die all the time. You died when she died.
Her eyes were like stones, ringed by intense black kohl, blue as they'd ever be, the color of a sapphire when the light slices through it. Monica was shaking, waiting for Leslie to say something. She hadn't said anything yet; her eyes told her the whole story.
"Did you need something?" She finally spoke. Monica pursed her lips and knew that the truth couldn't be ignored anymore.
"I don't need you." She was blatant and frank, her expression hardening and her eyes shining like polished glass. It was hard to sugar-coat something like this.
"E-excuse me?" Leslie was deeply offended. She lived on the principle that the people that did like her would like her forever, and never leave her alone. According to this principle Monica was supposed to stay loyal to her for the rest of her life, like an indentured slave.
"I know you don't need me anymore, so I don't need you either."
"You're being ridiculous. What are you really trying to say, that you miss me or something?" She shifted her weight and leaned a shoulder against the adjacent lockers. The tension was making her apprehensive and she didn't like to play games unless it she had started it. Evidently Leslie wasn't comfortable with the emotions running between her and who used to be a friend. A close friend.
Monica's chest clenched and she wanted to scream. This isn't happening. The scar tissue on her face tightened as she gritted her teeth, locking her jaw. She was growing angrier with each second of passing silence as she weighed the possibility of hating Leslie forever; it didn't seem so bad. Just another person who was gone and wasn't coming back. Kitty wouldn't want her to hate Leslie. She's not around anymore to be my moral compass. I can't let a ghost make my decisions for me.
"I know why we're not friends anymore," she ran her finger from the edge of her right eyebrow down to the bottom of her ear, "see this? This is exactly why. I know you can't even look at me without cringing."
Leslie pursed her lips and her stare softened, but her words did not.
"I can't even imagine that my best friend would think I could be so superficial. That's not even close to why I despise you, Monica," she spat the words fast and hard, with regret before they were even released into the air. She hated saying them. She wished she hadn't.
"Then what's the reason? I'm dying to find out why you won't talk to me anymore." Monica widened her eyes and stood at her full height, making a feeble attempt at being imposing.
The other girl looked crushed. She couldn't take the pressure anymore. The air was pressing down on her shoulders with the weight of the world. She felt as though she might collapse and vanish into the linoleum floor without a trace, leave her cares behind. She didn't hate Monica and she never could. She was afraid. And then she cried.
"You know I can't handle this kind of thing, Monica, you know I can't! I thought you were dead and I couldn't be sure if you would be the same when you came back. I knew that you would be devastated but I never, ever thought that it would be this bad." Her lips were parted and her eyes were weeping with pain, the kind of pain that can only blossom with rejection and fear. It crept inside of her heart and turned the lights out, leaving her in the dark to fend for herself.
"What happened on the first day I came back, huh? Was it too much to handle for you, to see that scar on my face? I'm the same, Leslie, I swear! But everyone's so god-damned scared of me that no one knows!" She raised her voice and let the truth roll off her tongue. Leslie needed to hear this.
"I'm sorry! It's not just the scar, Monica, there are rumors...about the accident. About you."
"So now the social hierarchy is telling lies about me? What kinds of lies?"
"Things like that you murdered your mother and tried to kill your brother, or that you somehow caused the accident yourself...they think you did it because you're the only one alive." She wiped at her eyes.
"And you believed them?! God I thought you'd be a little more supportive than that! You think I'd kill my mother? I loved her, and I love Alex. I would never hurt them. How could you..." She felt like crying, but there were no tears. Leslie was just a stranger now.
"It wasn't just me. It was everyone. And you're not the same, Monica. You'll never be the same. I knew from the moment you came back."
"You saw the scar and you rejected me, you believed lies and now you're telling me that I'm different than I used to be? Really? The best friend I know would never do any of those things. I wish I could say that I need you but I don't...I don't know. I don't think I can trust you. I don't know how I ever could have."
Leslie was frozen in place, rendered a block of ice by Monica's cold words. She knew that what she had done was horrible but she hadn't thought of how much it would affect Monica. How could I have been so damn stupid? Why...I don't even know why I did it. All I know it that she hates me and she'll never trust me again.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this. I have to go now." Monica slammed her locker door shut, picking her bag up, and trounced down the hallway, her rage scattering the people like minnows from a shark. I had to do it. She walked home that day in the crisp autumn air with bright leaves under her sneakers and a sigh on her breath. She didn't want to hate Leslie. Over the years, no matter what she'd done, Monica always put up with it. This however was inexcusable. She unlocked the door and walked into the apartment, then sat on the loveseat near the window. What was done was done, and she had no desire to take it back.