Cross

14 | Denial

"The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma." - Judith Lewis Herman

               Chapter Fourteen

I ignored the nickname I disliked and chuckled awkwardly, running my hands through my wet strands of hair. "Hello to you, too."

He laughed, dryly without much humor. My heart skips a beat for a moment, wondering whether I had crossed a line in our friendship. He had a right to be mad, after all.

"Very funny..." he said, his voice falling off as if he was preoccupied with another thought.

I paused for a moment, my eyes frantically dashing back and forth as I tried to come up with a subtle way to apologize.

"Look," I started off saying. My voice came out strong initially, but quickly disintegrated as tremors filled it. "I'm sorry for not keeping in touch –"

"Ang –"

"...and not replying to your texts..." I continued saying, and I would've continued rambling had he not stopped me in my tracks.

"Ang. Angie. Stop. It's okay," he said, faint traces of amusement coming through the phone. "I'm not mad."

I was stumped. "You're not? Why?"

I could envision him shrugging as he said, "I don't know. Maybe because we've been friends for so long that things like these don't even matter anymore?"

My chest tightened as I looked up at the ceiling and thanked whoever was listening for gifting me such an incredible friend. I loved him. I truly did.

"Oh," was my brilliant response.

To which, he chuckled.

My cheeks felt aflame as I bit my lip. It felt liberating being able to laugh and joke around with a friend. God only knew how badly I had needed someone like him in my childhood.

Although I appreciated the few light moments we shared, I wasn't the best person to handle having the attention solely on me and my idiocy. Thus, I subtly transitioned (or not, depending on the perspective) into a different topic. One that wasn't centered on me.

"Is your fiancé driving you as crazy as she is to me?" I asked.

Laughter ensued on the other side of the phone for few brief seconds as he quickly caught on to my tactics before he calmed down enough to come to her defense. "Mom and dad are coming, y'know? So, she's a bit stressed. Cut her some slack."

I pressed my phone into my ear as I tilted my head to hold onto it without my hands. That made perfect sense. It was no wonder that she was constantly reminding me of the date and making sure everything was planned to perfection.

As he continued to defend her insanity, I placed my training clothes in a neat pile on my bed as I shook the bag for a final time for good measure. Once that was done, I moved on to my closet and rummaged through my wardrobe for an outfit that would work for two occasions, both formal and work-appropriate.

"But, your parents are the nicest! She has nothing to worry about," I told him.

I heard him moving around, probably still walking around his house half-dressed, for a few moments before he settled, presumably laying down on his couch. "Yeah, but you know her. She's going to stress over it regardless."

"True," I said, agreeing in an instance.

This was one thing we both had in common. We were over-thinkers, extreme planners, super controlling and drowning in stress on a daily basis.