9. Mad World

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Your best friend.

The first person that runs to you when you're in tears. The first person you call when something happens, whether it is good or bad. The person who knows you, truly knows you, and loves you just the way you are.

Seven years of friendship. I met Ellie in the 4th grade, when she transferred to the academy from a public school. We instantly clicked. We both loved animals, psychology, reading and dancing. We had a lot in common, but at the same time, we were very, very different. She was shyer, quieter, more rational; the brain in any situation. I was talkative and bold, sometimes reckless. We were best friends.

At least I thought we were.

Because she had lied to my face when I asked her about Damian; she listened to my theories about his secret inside friend with a straight face, and not once did she have the decency to tell me that it was her. It was her all along. I was so perplexed and shocked, that I didn't know what to answer Damian. Should I feel betrayed? Why would she lie to me? This had to have a plausible explanation. This better had an explanation.

Damian must have noticed my dismayed look. He watched worryingly as I started to put my boots back on, and got up the same time I did.

"Let me explain."

I didn't reply and tried to sneak past him. Like always, it was futile. He caught my forearm and pulled me back to him. I avoided his piercing eyes, but his fingers settled under my chin, lifting it up and forcing me to look at him. In different circumstances, I would have realised how close we were to each other, how his black eyes were actually a really dark shade of brown, with a golden ring around the pupil, how fine and sharp the lines of his face were, what luscious lips he had. His majestic features were carved of stone again, and I knew he wasn't going to let go until I answered him.

"Explain?" I repeated derisively, more indignant than I should. "I've just found out that you have been talking with my best friend behind my back. What is there to explain?" I scowled, darting him an angry look. I wanted him to tell me everything, but at the same time, I wanted to hear Gabrielle's version.

"It's not her fault. Bree's my friend and I convinced her to keep that a secret." he defended her calmly.

Bree. My friend. I don't know why, but those words stung. I still couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, well, Bree's responsible for her own actions." I asserted bitterly, snatching his hand off my chin. It was so weird calling Gabrielle Bree. I associated Damian's nickname with a completely different girl. "I need to sort this out by myself. Leave me alone." I uttered harshly, louring at him.

He looked hurt. His lips parted as if to say something, but I didn't let him. I sidestepped him and walked past him. He didn't stop me this time.

***

My throat was dry and my head was pulsating like there was a small hammer inside my head that just kept dabbing against my temple. Nevertheless, I was alert and steady on my legs again, as if I hadn't drunk at all. It should be the adrenaline in my veins, the anger that fueled every part of my body that powered me to Gabrielle.

I took deep breaths to maintain my composure, keeping in mind that I should take this calmly and not overreact, hear her part of the story first. After two minutes of frantic searching, I found her outside the house, talking with a short brunette girl.

It was a bleak November night, with humid air and chilling wind. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, wondering whether I should go back inside and grab my jacket. But my best friend had already seen me. Her delicate features were lit by the moonlight and the street lamps, which painted the surroundings orange. She waved at me, her small lips depicting a smile. Her wavy, medium-long hair looked gilded, her teal blue eyes tinged with fire in the reddish-yellow light. My anger almost dissipated when I saw her looking that cheerful. I approached them and greeted them, watching my friend suggestively and gravely.

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