…I was introduced to his new girlfriend at a Wednesday night party where I was slightly too tipsy to place her and again when I had my bike stolen from a street round the corner from his place. I turned up unannounced on both occasions and was well received (I had a ‘face for social events’). She, on the other hand, was the pretty smile glimpsed for three seconds or less in the beginning sequence of a feature length film. Someone that everybody noticed, per-say, but only maybe six of those people would remember the outline of her features. Of those six, though, three would never be able to shun the recollection. Her, who would be the temptress of their dreams for six months or more. I had to ask myself, was it better to be well-liked and remembered or to be obsessed over? Either way, I knew that once I got to know her, I would either abhor her with a violence so possessive it captured my sleep patterns or I would adore every sweet inch of her form and wish to clasp her grace in one of my clawed fists to forever hold.
Unfortunately, on the second time I smiled wanly upon her waifish body (a distinct lack of hips frayed at my conscious), I began to note a growth somewhere just below my collarbone and too deep and splintered to extract. Yes, I already loathed the serpentine who had somehow planted herself in my social-circle, all soft curls and ruby lips. I already sensed an aversion to the delicate scent of her neck and slightly pigeon-toed stance. I had never actively hated anyone before. I had no pre-disposition to unreasonable detest. Truth; I had no idea what to do.
My first reaction was aversion. She was not a thorn or uncomfortable object I could simply pull at and be rid of, she was more like a worn street with cobblestones so smooth my heels would slip. Like such a street, I avoided her. I avoided the embarrassment of being unpleasant in common company. As far as I knew, she was warming on everyone else’s wrists (the treasonous scent of a whores poor perfume). I was well-known and well-liked. I was never overly crass or cruel and I possessed a keen wit. I was the first person embraced, etc. I couldn’t be seen to be sarcastic and blunt to a female that others were so positive about. Not only this, He was my best friend. Hence why I would show up at his door at nine-thirty on a Tuesday evening, soaked from the sporadic August rain and throwing myself around his place in a coy, feline manner. When he asked me what I thought of her, with widened eyes and exuding an obvious affection for the wench in the next room, what could I have possibly said? I didn’t even have to grit my teeth, such was my love for him. I did what I knew right and bubbled ‘Oh! She’s just lovely!’. Like a fool. I was also not much of a liar. I don’t really know how I managed to pull it off. He probably slept that night, post-copulation content, whilst I ferreted away at my own apartment, wondering just what on earth I should do…