Friendship Never Dies (formerly called Silver Lining)

Friendship Never Dies - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

On my way home I stopped off at Nicole’s house, not being able to last one day without seeing my best friend, to see if she was alright - alive.

 She was lying on the sofa, cradling a mug of lukewarm tea in her pale hands. She looked worse than usual, even paler than yesterday and her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. It looked like she had a clear film stretched across her face, pulled taut to highlight the sickness in her face. She had covered her head with a hat but I could still see that her hair had almost completely gone, leaving fine stubble scattered across  her scalp, and her eyelids were drooping almost closed but not quite. Her skin was translucent and her high cheekbones more prominent, her wrists looked fragile, like they could be snapped with just a touch. She looked somehow thinner and smaller, broken and her lips were cracked and dry. She was less Nicole and more cancer. It was taking control, wrapping itself around her and warping her mind, limiting her actions.

 It was unbearable to watch. Like a horror movie. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn’t. As my mind struggled to come to terms with her appearance, a voice that I didn’t recognise came out of my mouth.

“Nic?” My voice sounded strangled and I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice. She’d changed so much since yesterday. My voice made her jump – she hadn’t heard me enter.

 “Mmm?” she mumbled, yanking her eyes open and trying to raise her head. I pushed it back down again gently. It sent chills down my spine to see her like this. It hurt me. I wondered what it would feel like without her but then decided that I didn’t actually want to know. I struggled to think of something to say. I made do with “How are you feeling?” Stupid question! I thought. I knew the answer before it came out of her mouth. Awful. Terrible. Horrible. Take your pick.  She gave me rotten look

. “Fabulous,” she said, clapping with weak, fake enthusiasm, a lopsided, false half-grin on her face. She wasn’t so sick that she’d forgotten how to use sarcasm. It was her favourite language. She said that we should learn sarcasm instead of French. I giggled hesitantly, hoping that that was the right response. She grinned back at me so I guessed that it was. I stayed at Nicole’s house for about three hours; I sent a text to my mum, so I wouldn’t get into another row.

This continued for the next couple of days, slipping into a kind of routine. I was alone, but I didn’t want another, different friend, even if she was a clone of Nicole. It just didn’t seem fair to Nic. Not when - however pessimistic I was being – she still had a chance of surviving. I didn’t want her to feel like she was alone. I would always be there for her, no matter what. It didn’t matter how I felt, as long as she got better; that was all that mattered. She was the top priority.

But nothing changed. Nicole didn’t get better; though she didn’t get worse, either. She was still off school, sick and everyone still wondered what was going on, but they had given up going to me for answers a long time ago. Nobody said anything but I could see their puzzled expressions every time they shot a glance at Nicole’s now permanently empty seat, or me, now all alone. I saw Kate coming in and out of the school a few times, lengthening Nicole’s ‘sick leave’ I supposed. She never made eye contact, always looking away or rushing out, acting busy. It was like she had something to hide. I didn’t understand that. I was Nicole’s best friend. We told each other everything. I tried to figure it out but after a while I just gave up and pushed it to the back of my mind, afraid of what I might find. I was curious but I was also too much of a coward to look too close.

I tried to satisfy my curiosity by convincing myself that she was just completely stressing out about Nicole. Deep down, I think I knew it wasn’t true but I refused to think bad things about Nicole or her mum, but unstoppable questions and ‘What ifs’ kept surfacing, the product of so many years of insecurity. What If she doesn’t like me any more, doesn’t want to be my friend? What if she doesn’t trust me? What’s she hiding? Silly little questions that didn’t make sense, but the need for the answers ran deep inside me. I satisfied that need with thinking up answers that also didn’t make any sense, but at least they sweetened the stinging pangs of paranoia and anxiety that came with the burning questions.