“Why are you wearing that?”

“Wearing what?”

“That.”

“What’s that?”

“The necklace.”

“Oh. It matches my eyes well.”

“I know it does. That doesn’t answer why you’re wearing it.”

“Sure it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m right here.”

“So?”

“So since when did you have the right to do this to me?”

“Do what?”

“This.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying. And if all you’re going to do is mope, I’m going.”

“You’re evil.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Wait, where’re you going?”

“I dunno. Out.”

“You are out.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t go even more out.”

“I guess not. But you promised to spend the day with me.”

“I never promised anything. I just said I was free.”

“That’s a lie.”

“What?”

“I said; that’s a lie.”

“What’s a lie? You know I hate liars.”

“You said you never promised anything.”

“I didn’t.”

“Sure you did.”

“I didn’t mean about anything. I meant about today.”

“You should say what you mean.”

“You should try to be more agreeable. I don’t even know why I let myself get dragged into this again.”

“Because you love me?”

“Don’t start that.”

“You’re not even the o-“

“Don’t.”

“Bu-“

“I’m going.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone.”

“Good.”

“So…”

“You have no idea how much of a martyr I am.”

“How could you, of all people, be a martyr?”

“I keep coming here to save your ass from depression.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I know. I was thinking about writing a satire, or a play, based on your negativity.”

“I’m honored.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya.”

“God, remind me why I keep asking for you to come save my a** again?”

“Because.”

“What? What’s that look for?”

“You know what it’s for.”

“Agh, don’t you go bringing that up again.”

“Oh, why not?”

“You’d be a hypocrite, that’s why.”

“It doesn’t hurt when I talk about it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t hurt you, but it always hurts me.”

“Then you’re a masochist.”

“At least I know it.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it.”

“No. I want to know just how badly you’re insulting me, and I want to know now.”

“Well, all I’m saying is somebody’d think you’re a masochist too.”

“Why? Because I put up with your crap?”

“Gee, you’re funny. More like because you’ve been putting up with it forever, and you date-“

“That’s none of your business you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Since when have we been keeping secrets?”

“…You know.”

“I thought you’d…wait, don’t do this.”

“I told you to leave it alone.”

“You’re the one who brought it up this time.”

“So?”

“So I think you want to talk about this just as much as I do, if not more.”

“Why would I want to talk about it? There isn’t anything there.”

“There must be something, even if it’s just the lack of anything.”

“You should’ve become a poet.”

“And you should’ve been my-”

“You always were good at making a person feel guilty over things beyond their control.”

“That wasn’t beyond your control.”

“Sure it was.”

“How?”

“I don’t think we should talk about this anymore.”

“Don’t you think it hurts more to keep it in than to share it? I’ve always told you everything.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re in this mess.”

“It wouldn’t be a mess if you weren’t making it one.”

“Don’t blame me for this!”

“I’m not…I’m sorry if I seem like I am.”

“…ok.”

“You have to admit though, you date some awful guys.”

“It’s exciting. Besides, they tend to have money to spend.”

“Ouch. Is that why you said no?”

“No. That’s just a perk they’ve got that you never had…and by the looks of it, you never will.”

“Did you seriously come here to just poke fun at me or did you plan on squeezing in some conversation?”

“Sorry.”

“…Alright.”

“Anyway, they’re sweet when you get to know them. Like, they’re always calling me beautiful or charming or intelligent.”

“You are beautiful.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure I’d say it about myself. But it is nice to hear from people.”

“Well I wish you’d get a little more confidence and start looking at yourself the way I, and obviously many other men, do.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“My chest isn’t quite big enough…Hey, what’s that for? I was just kidding…really…oh, come on…”

“That just really hurts.”

“I’m sorry. I mean that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t touch me. You’re the one who doesn’t like for us to do anything more than sit on separate couches.”

“…Sorry.”

“Whatever. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’re the one always telling me to open up. And since when did you want to be a hypocrite like me?”

“It seems like those are the only kind of people you want to be with these days.”

“That’s not true. I still love talking to you, don’t I?”

“Things aren’t the same. You’re not the same with me anymore. You’re so…”

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you’d be cool with it even if you weren’t feeling the same. You were always cool with everything.”

“But that was-“

“It wasn’t any more emotional or any deeper than everything else I’d shared with you.”

“No, but it was-“

“It was what?”

“I was getting to that.”

“I’m sick and tired of you “getting to that.” You never actually get there. You come up with excuses to hang up the phone, or you find some mutually happy time to talk about.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“You’re not the one who stays up at night, trying to figure it out.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t lie, hoping it’ll make me feel bad for you, because it won’t.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“You’re lying right now.”

“So what if I am? I’m not, but I think I’ve earned a few lies after all you’ve put me through.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I didn’t do what you were hoping for doesn’t mean I’m putting you through anything.”

“You’re no martyr.”

“…I know. You really should’ve been a poet. I hear they make more money for their misery than you do.”

“You must date a lot of poets then.”

“No. I just date a bunch of spoiled assholes who have no idea what to do now that they’ve gotten out of college and don’t actually like their jobs.”

“I have at least that going for me.”

“Yeah. That you do.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“When you came over, and I saw the necklace…It hurt.”

“That’s not your fault…I…”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I keep hoping I’ll ward you off. It’d be easier to be friends that way.”

“I guess. But…you can’t honestly think being hurt will turn me away. After all, you’re the one who says I’m a masochist.”

“I wish you weren’t one. Then I wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“Explain.”

“Knowing that you find reasons to be miserable hurts me; as your best friend I feel like it’s my job to keep you out of trouble-not help you find it.”

“Ah. Well, don’t feel bad.”

“I try.”

“Aren’t you sweet.”

“Eh.”

“…You remember the-“

“Yes. I remember. Do you really want to go into that?”

“I brought it up, didn’t I?”

“Ok.”

“Your dress was definitely too small for you.”

“It was not! It fit perfectly.”

“It was too small. I was your date, and every other guy in the place was giving you the eye.”

“I can’t help it if you’ve always been a wimp.”

“Remind me why I love you again.”

“I can’t. You never told me why-I asked you not to, said it didn’t mean anything.”

“Well, I guess you were right about that.”

“Maybe.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“…Do you remember that dress?”

“Yeah, of course I do. I just said it was-“

“Describe it to me.”

“Why? You know what it was like better than me.”

“Please…”

“…ok. It was white mostly, but there was this design sewn-“

“Embroidered.”

“Oh…so anyway, there was this design along the side of the dress, and it was kinda like the ocean, only going up instead of across and it was blueish-green, so I was pretty excited because it…”

“I know. You got lucky-it looked as if I’d bought it myself just for that dress.”

“And your cheeks were flushed, but you looked so beautiful with your hair freshly curled-it looked loose and wild…God Cassidy, I should’ve known.”