I don't own Twilight.

I cleaned out the mess I left here last time. A hissy fit will do that to you.

Sorry for the double alert.

/Chapter10/

How was your birthday, baby?

I'm asking kind of late, huh?

Eleven days, fifteen hours, twenty-one minutes and fifty-nine seconds late...

Did you wait for my phone call? The one you'd usually receive on your birthday - not even a full second after midnight? Were you waiting to hear my voice first on your special day? Hell, I was the first person to wish you a happy birthday for the past twelve years. More often than not did I spend this day with you or the night before. I used to be your first person for everything.

I guess this year it was her voice you heard first. Maybe her arms were around your neck, her lips on those soft lips of yours... Were you out celebrating with her or did you spend the day in bed? Dear God, why do I keep torturing myself with those images? Why can't I stop the images of the two of you together? I'm wishing so much it was me you spent your special day with. Like it should have been.

I'm like the dying, old pet now. The pet you grew up with – a trusty friend and beloved companion – and now that the pet is old and probably smelly you don't want to play with it anymore.

Well, there's a simile that hits you in the face like a glass door you didn't see. Too funny she's a vet and could easily put me down. She already did, metaphorically speaking. And it's actually not remotely funny at all. It's utterly sad – in the I-want-to-crawl-under-the-bed-and-die-a-slow-painful-death kind of way. I don't know what's worse; the anxiety of losing my best friend or the feeling that I'm not your number one girl anymore.

I couldn't stop thinking about you that day. You were on my mind constantly, and I was barely able to hold my tears at bay. My stupid phone mocked me; it called out to me to pick it up and call you. I couldn't. My brain told me to stay away from you, told me to protect myself from further heartache. It told me repeatedly that there is no happy ever after for us... But my heart – that stupid traitor – beat in overdrive the whole day. This constant battle between my heart and my head is pissing me the fuck off.

It'd be so easy to push a button and simply not love you anymore, not miss you with every fiber of my being. Images flooded my mind like a tsunami. Images of long-gone moments. The day we met, the day we became an item, our first kiss, our first time, the three years we lasted as a couple, the dozen times we went on various vacations together, or how I hung on every word you said – like the God I thought you were... Twelve years worth of our love and utterly cozy friendship flooded my brain. It was like someone broke open the Hoover Dam.

If you could see how miserable I am now, would you think back to the day when you were feeling this low? Would you link all my misery back to the day I broke your heart and ultimately mine?

You don't like to think back, do you?

You don't want to be reminded of your own weakness. That even you – the impeccable über-human – have your faults.

Though, I wouldn't call it a fault or a weakness. I'd just call it life. Shit happens. We have to go on.

I imagine you losing your usual calmness now, screaming at me:

"Well, the shit that happened was you cheating on me!"

Yes, I know. God, how could I ever forget? You wouldn't let me.

We broke up because you couldn't forgive me for the infidelity.

I fought for your friendship, yet you still wouldn't forgive me.

I groveled at your feet and begged, but you wouldn't forgive me.

With time we became best friends, and still you didn't have it in you to forgive me.

For nine years now, you remind me on a regular basis about another fuck-up in my life.

"Do you regret cheating on me?" I hear your smug voice ask me.

Why yes, I do. Every day.

"Do you think things would have ended up differently if you hadn't cheated on me?"

The pain in your eyes kills me each and every time I picture your face as I see you say this. Go haunt me with your puppy-dog eyes, why don't you.

But no, not so much. We probably wouldn't have lasted that much longer anyway.

"Was it something I did wrong?"

I'm snorting. My brain really hallucinates now. You would never, never, ever ask if you did something wrong. That's just not your style - given the fact that you're always right. You don't make mistakes. Ever.

But no, it wasn't something you did wrong. You were the perfect gentleman. The nicest guy I've ever met. A heart as big as an ocean. You gave love and didn't take much for yourself in return. You explained the world to me, built me up. You had faith in me, always encouraged me. With you, I didn't have to be strong all the time; I was allowed to be weak and show my exhaustion.

I was happy. Utterly happy but terrified of losing you at any second. You were the best thing that ever happened in my life.

We were both twenty-one-years-old, living in my own apartment when you became suddenly sick. I figured it was depression. You refused to see a doctor, couldn't even bear to go home to your parents. Me? I had to switch back into fight-mode and be there for you 100 %.

Support you.

Take care of you.

Love you.

Just keep you sane!

I did.

For a whole year - 365 days - I was your shoulder to cry on, your mother, your nanny, your psychologist, but not so much your lover. Since you refused to go home to your parents, I took you in permanently -no questions asked. I washed your clothes, put you in the shower, cooked your meals, and drove you to classes.

"Yeah, all the things a normal couple does."

Funny... I felt like your roommate.

I don't blame you for this. Things like that happen without a reason. I don't fault you for becoming ill. I never did, certainly not back then. My heart went out for you. Utterly helpless -that's what you were- and I don't blame you for any of this, even you not being able to take my feelings into consideration. You simply had to focus on yourself to get better. It was okay with me.

Wanna know what really pisses me off, though? After all we've been through -our friendship we fought so hard to maintain- you let me down. Knowing full well that I, too, suffer from depression, you still let me down.

I hate you for this.

A little bit.

When I think about all that stuff -the stuff you refused to talk about - I can only conclude that you thought I cheated on you because you neglected me... Maybe it's a bit of guilt that keeps your mouth shut about this.

I never thought so. I don't know your opinion on that matter for sure. Though you thanked me - one time - for being there for you, you still didn't want to talk about it. I get it. I hurt you so much.

When you asked me for the reason I did this, I couldn't even give you one. Back then- when I was twenty-one years old - I didn't know what I know now. It wasn't like the sex with this guy was satisfying for me. Or any other guy for that matter and sadly that includes you, too.

It wasn't you getting sick, or me cheating on you, that pushed our relationship down the drain.

It was me. Right from the start.

So the million-dollar-question is:

Why did I cheat on you?

I'd give you a million dollars if you could answer that question for me.

You see, I'm an idiot and so are you. February forth surely proved our idiocy.

Were we meant to end up like this? I don't know. Maybe.

Was it purely the wine that had us suddenly kissing that night? I'm not sure.

Surely browsing a website for sex toys gets you a little horny, no?

Wanna know something funny – or tragic - depending on your point of view?

The softness of your lips against mine... felt right... somehow.

The velvet of your tongue on mine... felt even better.

The coarseness of your two hands cradling my face... was perfection.

But my brain told me that this was all wrong. You're my best friend for crying out loud.

I don't know who made the first move there on your damn couch. You? Me? Either way, the sudden impact of your lips on mine had me frozen. It was so foreign, yet so familiar. And all so wrong. The way you touched your lips to mine – so delicate, soft like a whisper - had my body tingling in a nanosecond.

The way you came back for my lips – harder this time - had the fire in my veins blazing. The way you stroked my hair had the air cracking with tension and every sane thought went out the window there and then. When you took me upstairs like a maniac - tearing at my clothes along the way - my mind was already spinning. You kissed me so hard while trying to maneuver us into your bed. By the time my knees hit the bed, you had me in only my panties. I clawed at your hair, yanked you down to my height to put my lips on every spot of your skin accessible to me. I kissed your throat, licked the stubble on your chin.

Your aggressiveness made me brazen, so I climbed onto the bed on all fours and waggled my ass, silently telling you to just slap it. One time.

C'mon, you can do it. I want you to. So badly.

The slap, however, landed on my face, figuratively, when you turned into teddy bear mode again. Once again treating me like a doll, when I wanted to be your dirty little girl so much. You know? Dirty girls get to be punished...

I thought I could teach you, the way I taught you everything else. Suffice to say the night ended in a disaster for me. Not only was I left utterly unsatisfied, but also terrified we had just ruined our friendship with this awkward fuck. The night was restless for me.

You snored away obliviously in your spent state.

But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd come back the next weekend to discover two coffee cups on your bedside table and a bra under your bed that certainly wasn't mine. I wanted to call you out on it so much, but well, you weren't my boyfriend so I kept my mouth shut.

I got my answer pretty soon as to whom this bra belonged. Your eyes were glued to your laptop screen the whole evening, and it drove me nuts! And when I looked over your shoulder to see what held your attention so much...

You were Skyping.. boring... computer nerdy talk with your brother. I was sure.

Then I did a double take, and my face lost all its color.

There - in that little chat window - was certainly not the picture of your chubby brother but her. In all her blonde, long-haired glory and icy blue eyes. From the looks of it, you must have chatted for days and days with her. And you being you had no problem with me reading all your conversations. Good times.

And God, what a scheming little bitch she was. She pulled out all the stops. Apparently you met her through an online dating agency. A project for your degree course, social science. You chatted for a few weeks and told me you liked her and wanted to stay in contact with her, maybe even become friends.

She? Not so much. From what I was reading, she was pleased to know you're rich as fuck and wanted to go all in. Steady relationship or nothing at all. When she called you an asshole via Skype and accused you of leading her on, I saw red. When she told you she wasn't in love with you, that you're not that special, and she has other admirers lining up for her, well, I told you she's a bitch. From her writing and spelling, I could tell that she was obviously very much drunk. Three sheets to the wind to be exact. Takes one to know one, you know? I'm an expert.

I went all Kanye West on your ass and shouted at you that she was a gold digger. Couldn't you see, you stupid, stupid man?

To tell you that, though, was a huge mistake. My bad, I didn't know she was your new soulmate already.

There was no cuddling for us that night.

And that, my dear friend, was the last time we saw each other. February eleventh. It's the end of July now.

In two weeks, we'll be seeing each other.

On a boat.