"And what? What's so special about anything you do anyway? You don't have friends- or even one friend, do you? You don't have a single close friend, but all you ever do is go on and on about how others are fools and how they should live instead. You? Giving advice? Please." I came to a halt, watching his eyes widen. He didn't speak for a moment, and then longer. "What? Nothing to say?" I scoffed. "Too close to home?"
He smiled then, an amused rattled sort of. One I had never seen him wear before.
Now, the thing was, there were a lot of things dislikeable about him, but they were not very obvious reasons. I had only known for less than a year, and yet through observation, had compiled a rather decent list of seemingly unassuming things that I hated from him.
The first one was his behavior: he acted so aloof, pretentiously so. He was sarcastic beyond belief, and if not sarcastic, then he was almost always loud and abrasive. He never swore or cursed, and somehow that annoyed me even more, because to me there is me sort of honesty in swearing- the way in which one does not have to dig through layers for the true meaning. Meanwhile he was insistent on using slippery strings of words, lacing them with jokes and references, that added another five layers to the taunt, and then top it all off with that fake smile of his. Every sentence from him was diabolical, but our friend group always took him as a jester. And, well, I suppose that's what he was. The funny friend. Except his snide comments weren't all that well hidden to me, ever.
See, I am not much of a talker. I like to stand and listen and hum thoughtfully. I like to listen and hear. I am the audience, and I enjoy it. And the audience's job, is to be the observer. And that brings me to point two.
His presence was like broken glass; all over the place, hard to ignore, but eventually swept away to the side. Like shards of glass, he was usually the result of some previous chaos, or an outburst of some kind. He was bright, and attention seeking, and once you'd give him that, he'd target you for a stab. And like stepping bare foot on broken glass, you'd have to apologize for your misstep. You do not wander in minefields. And once sufficient people had been stabbed, they'd sweep him off, and carry on. You could blink and he'd be gone as if he was never there. And nobody ever really knew where he was. He had a penchant for keeping his phone turned off. And later on, as I had come to realise, nobody really cared.
His only redeeming quality, to me, was his skill in art, but that too I could not care less for, since I had no interest in the arts of any kind.
To me, he was one of the most pathetic existences I had ever come across. He was the guy whom people would discard from plans if there was only one space less. He was the person who was never told any of what transpired between our social circles. He was the person nobody wanted to be close to, but also everyone knew.
And yet for some reason, he had this air of superiority about him. It was so aggravating, to watch him strut in and clasp hands with people and not know that everyone was about to go out without him.
I know it sounds crazy, but I think he unknowingly crossed a limit for pathetic-ness in my mind. I came to perhaps pity him. Or his style of men. And then he'd aggravate me by saying something completely arbitrary. As if he was the best thing to have ever happened. His apparent narcissism made me detest him, for I knew he had less than nothing. But how does one explain less than nothing, to a man who knows nothing? I could never, previously, bring myself to even speak to this man one on one.
My chest was still heaving slightly from my outburst, and he was staring at me, mouth surprisingly pursed in a thin line. I raised an eyebrow, and he leaned away, letting his shoulder hit the back of the chair.
"Well," He finally spoke of his own volition. "You're right. I don't have any close friends. Or well, maybe I do - one - maybe, but I don't know for sure."
I scoffed, folding my hands and copying his posture, slouching a bit more. It was my attempt at being aggressive, although how well it translated, I do not know.
"This is such a mutual concept: friendship." He said. "I know I have friends, but I don't want to bestow the burden of close companionship on someone who may not want it."
Being in the terrible mood that I was, I did not realise the grey that had seemed to settle over him.
"Nobody would want it anyway." said I.
He smiled that terrible understanding smile again, and it displeased me. Later, I realised that it discomforted me. It was not an expression I was used to seeing on him. An almost sad, pitying sort of understanding.
"You assume to know a lot about me." he said.
"I'm just speaking from observation." I told him.
"I wasn't aware you were observing me this closely."
I rolled my eyes. Again with the air of superiority. It may not sound so, but his body had taken on the air of smugness. Still a little sad and pitying, although why directed at me I didn't know. It angered me, unreasonably so.
"Sometimes I really wish you did have some friends so that you'd stop limping around us like a dog." I said. He raised his eyebrows, and I shut my mouth, realising I had trespassed my own boundaries. Like I said, I wasn't a very extroverted person. My role was to be the audience, the observer - a role, that I took great pride in. In fact, I couldn't even seem to recall how I had entered this argument with him.
In our group, people used to say that if there was anyone you should never get in to an argument in with, it was this guy. And at this moment, I could see why. He had an infuriating quality of being able to rile up even the meekest of beings. If he wanted to elicit a response, that is. Then he would.
I glared at his dyed blond hair, unusually wavy at the front, and jarringly straight and spiky at the back. It was cut into a wolfcut, that weirdly suited him. The front of his wavy hair curled perfectly over his glasses and to the side, coming toa stop right at the top of his ears. The top of his head was dark, dark brown roots starting to show.
He started laughing then, small seriously amused laughs. It had a tone of disbelief in it, and when I had thought he was going to stop, he started anew, this time slapping his thigh and leaning to the side.
This son of a bitch had tears in his eyes. I had just said one of the cruelest things ever in my life, and he was laughing. Laughing to the point of choking.
Finally, when the nutcase (as some of our other colleagues were (rightly) inclined in referring to him as) calmed down, he shot me a wide grin and said, "You hate me."
"Not hate," I bristled too fast. "I don't hate you." I did. I do. I do hate him. In a rather vicious capacity. And the more I try to reason with myself, the more I am unable to. My emotions wrap their fingers around logic, and steal the reins for this thought process. A weird fixative sort of vice grip, revolving around this man's existence.
"You do. You hate me." He said. And put like that, it seemed realer. Like an actual thing. Something almost tangible. Hate.
I wanted to deny it, even though mercilessly I agreed with it.
"it's alright though. I expect it." He continued. He sounded like one of those edgy middle schoolers, I couldn't help but think.
"I'm not a nice person." He continued.
I frowned. Although I had made my observations, I hadn't thought he'd be privy to them.
"No really," He spread out his hands. "I'm not. Nobody- Whatever. You're right-" He suddenly gave up. "I knew I was annoying you all. I know. It was part of the reason I continued to be honest, but if it's actually this... distressing, I will stop."
"Really?" I was dubious.
"Truly." He raised both hands up, in a promising fashion.
And he did. From that day on we did see less of him. Not completely zero though, for he was in a lot of our classes. But his lack of friends was even more obvious now. The others were slightly concerned, and did interact with him every now and then, and he too would reply amicably, as if our conversation had never happened, but then he would never approach us himself, as he used to.
I felt responsible, and I hated myself for it. Apparently the rest hadn't felt so strongly against him. They seemed to miss his humor. And it annoyed me.
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