On Jealousy
You don’t realise it’s an issue until you’re drunk at Lauren’s house party, wine in hand and friends in tow, Heidi approaching to exclaim.
“Ella! It’s so good to see you! I don’t care what everyone else says about you, it’s clear they’re just jealous!”
She tips half a plastic cup of beer down your sheer blouse when she leans in for a hug. Her long, curly blonde hair spilling across your face where it smells overwhelmingly of the weed she’d been smoking outside. You raise your hands and rest them against her back for short moments before pulling away,
“It’s nice to see you too. Please excuse me for a moment, I need to go to the bathroom.”
It’s not a complete lie. You do need to go to the bathroom.
She’s been your best friend for years. You move in together and are happy for a time. You sew together, bicker good naturedly at the shops, eat food under piles of blankets, bad reality TV the backbone of all your most important conversations.
“If I was a size 10 I’d kill myself,” she remarks one day, off hand and casual, like she’s commenting on the weather.
“You know I’m a size 10, right?” you reply.
“Yeah. But you’re different.”
“Are you trying to neg me, bub?”
