How To Hate Your Best Friend

nineteen

A few hours had passed and I still couldn't stop thinking about Colton and I in his car. The passion, the shared proximity, and the pure pleasure...But, like all good things in my life, it had to come to an end.

And what cut it short?

A phone call. From the girl sitting right in front of me.

Brooke.

I was seated across from a beady eyed Brooke Mckailey while organizing papers in a dull backroom at the institution our group worked at.

It was just my luck that Anthony wasn't here today. He said he had his cousin's baby shower that his mom was forcing him to go.

And so I was alone. With the sounds of a paper shredder and a silent Brooke Mckailey who looked like she wanted to stab me.

"You smell different." she suddenly spoke.

I was almost taken aback at the fact that she was talking to me. For the past 2 hours, the only thing we'd exchange would be the stapler when having to staple stacks of paper together. This was new and unexpected.

"Oh umm-"  I didn't know how to respond. Did she mean I smelt bad?

"Is that a new perfume?" she tilted her head.

"Yeah. It's --"

"Vanilla Fetale." she finished for me. "Right?" Smiling.

I turned in my chair, slightly shocked that she guessed right. "Uh yeah, it is. You're a fan of perfume, I'm guessing?"

Instead of answering, she leaned over her desk and moved in closer, sniffing my hair. "Mmm. Can't remember the last time I smelt this." she chuckled, taking a seat.

I couldn't tell if I should be weirded out or thankful.

"Um...Thank you?" At the very least, I appreciated her for making conversation. We had about 3 more hours on our time sheets that we had to get done and sitting in silence was not making the time go by any faster.

"Um so..." I tried to start. Awkward. Weary. I couldn't tell if she knew I was making out with her boyfriend just a couple hours ago. 

"We should get back to our assignments," she clipped, looking back down to her work, preparing to ignore me once again. 

But no. I was sick of this shit. 

She had started this stupid conversation, and so she didn't get to decide she just wanted to end it out of the blue.

"Look. We're gonna be working together for the next couple of hours so I'd rather us talk about perfumes than have you stare at me like you want to fucking kill me," I muttered loud enough for her to hear, organizing some papers in front of me.

Wait shit. Did I really just say that? To Brooke Mckailey, of all people?

There was a long silence before  I finally found the courage to look up and she sighed, rubbing her hands hands over her face.

She let out a long groan of stress and shook her head, "I'm sorry. I'm not usually like this it's just," she sighed again. I could tell that something was truly troubling her. "I'm really stressed out."

There was another silence. 

She rolled her eyes. "This is where you're supposed to pretend you care and ask why."

I could tell she knew I wasn't fond of her and she definitely wasn't fond of me. But at least she wasn't a bitch about it. Oddly enough, she was pretty respectful about our indifferences.