We were young. So young. We met at the park. My sister didn't like him, but I did. I was never sure why. I was lonely. Maybe that contributed to it, I don't know. I had no friends. The only one I had to play with was my sister. She never agreed with me. We were constantly fighting. He was even lonelier than I was; he had no friends, no siblings, and his parents fought constantly.

He was so alone. It made him distant at first. In the beginning, I didn't really care, but we always started talking. He just pulled me right in, and I had no choice. He was so alone. All he needed was a companion.

And so I played the part.

We grew older, of school age. We went to school and met boys who never got along with him. They tortured him, caused him great pain and great sorrow. I didn't really hate the boys, I meerly hated what they did to him. But all he needed was someone to hate them like he did. He needed someone to be on his side.

And so I played the part.

We were put into separate houses. Most of the time, children only were friends with those in their own house, but it was different for us, since we already knew each other. A lot of people stared, or asked me why I talked to him. I would simply tell them it was because he was my friend. All he needed was someone to be there.

And so I played the part.

We matured. Now we were teenagers. The boys did horrible things to him, worse than ever before. I tried to help, but he said cruel things to me, and so I walked away. I always wonder what could have happened if I didn't walk away, but it can't be helped now. I told him I hated him and that we weren't friends anymore. All he wanted was to stay friends, but now he didn't need me anymore. He needed someone to hate him.

And so I played the part, but that one hurt.

I wager he cried himself to sleep each night for a while. His friends probably told him to get over it, and that someone like me wasn't worth being friends with. He never felt that way, and I knew it. He had another feelings about me. He loved me. He must've. All of my friends had told me so, but I never believed them. All he wanted, all he needed, was someone, me, to love him. To love him the way he loved me.

I couldn't play that part.

I couldn't pretend to fall in love with him. I couldn't live a lie like that. I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him that I had felt that way up until that day. If I had spoken up, if I had told him how I had felt back then, things might've been different. Or if he had told me first, things would've been so marvelous. But it wasn't so. Today was my wedding day, and I was wedding the love of my life. He was one of the boys who had tortured my friend, but he'd changed remarkably. Yes, I used to love my friend, but now, the friend didn't matter anymore. He was only important to me in my memories, and that could never change.

I could've made up with him and stayed friends. I could've played that part, at least. But now, the casting is done, and the curtain has fallen.