The Call

My best friend was suicidal. From her cynical and sarcastic commentaries, the world was a bitter sweet tale of home and neglect. She’s not kind, because she knew the world isn’t either. Cigar and alcohol had became her salvation. Smoking a joint was the only way for her to smile. But still, I love her anyway. She’s lovable in her unlovable way.

But all the love in the world couldn’t save her. All it took was one phone call. One phone call at the wrong time, at the wrong moment.

I was too busy to care. Too busy to get into another girl’s pants to answer one call. One goddamn phone call. Even though I saw her broke down in tears a few days ago. And I still won’t care.

The day after, still lying half naked in my bed, I got another phone call. But what met my ears wasn’t her daily insult. It was her mother.

She jumped off a ledge the night before. Only a mere hour after that one phone call.

I always convince myself that I’m a good person. I’m not.