Written for sm_monthly May 2009 Challenge: "Friendship"

Pre-Economics

Raye gritted her teeth and wished there was something she could do.

She couldn't reverse time and put Mina's pain back in, as much as she wished to.

She couldn't change a person back into the version that they had been, years ago.

All she could do was sit there and listen to Mina sob out her story, her face swollen from hours of misery, the usual layers of clothing sloppy and haphazard, and not in her usual charming, slightly bohemian way. Her appearance was as shattered as her emotions.

Raye thought about what she usually would do: scream, of course; rage, most definitely. She would curse a blue streak until the four-letter words lost their impact, shout the sadness out of the weeping blonde girl, and best of all, offer constructive, practical solutions that would make everything all better. Raye was full of those, usually. There was no problem that she couldn't pull apart, examine, and turn the other person around, sending them in the direction that would see them better in the end.

This problem had no such solution.

Mina had cried through all the tissues, and was working her way through a spare roll of toilet paper.

"How could he do this?" she whispered, gasping between sobs.

"I don't know."

"I feel so stupid."

"Don't."

It was astonishing that Mina could keep producing tears. "I almost married him."

Raye said nothing as she straightened her spine and hoped that the simmering rage wasn't showing on her face, yet.

"Raye," Mina said, her voice plaintive and heart wrenching. "What am I supposed to do?"

She crawled across her bed and wrapped her arms around her suffering friend's shoulders, pulling the blonde head down to her shoulder. "You don't have to do anything. Don't worry." She fiercely pressed a hard kiss to the sobbing girl's temple. "Someone better is waiting for you, I promise."

Mina let out a long, shivering breath. "Will I be OK?"

Raye's certainty was coming back to her, like warm water thawing and dissolving a chunk of ice. "Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Raye said. "If you're not OK, I'm not OK." She slammed down the pricking tears that hadn't yet reached her eyes; she could shut them off like a pro. "And I'm always OK."

Mina still wept herself into exhaustion, finally falling into a fitful sleep on the part of the bed where Jason usually slept. Raye picked up the used tissues scattered about when the idea came to her.

There was something she could do.

Quietly, she gathered her handbag and a giant suitcase out of her closet, and crept out to the living room. Jason was stretched out on the couch, seemingly asleep, but opened his eyes when he heard her movements. She was grateful for him for leaving them alone, and didn't plan on telling him the whole story until later. No sense in having him fly off the handle, too, even though Raye knew that it killed him to see his sister like this, and with him unable to help.

"I need your car. Please."

He didn't ask any questions, but reached into his pocket and held out the keys.

She loved him for that.

"Do you need help?"

She stopped at the door and turned to meet his eyes. "No. This is something I have to do."

He nodded once, and reached for his phone and placed it within arm's reach of the couch.

She loved him for that, too.

The drive was short, and she had no idea where to even park, so she landed the Chevelle in front of a driveway and prayed that no one was going out at that hour. The suitcase wheels made an echoing bump as she dragged them up the stairs.

She knocked gently, rightly assuming that he wouldn't answer if she hammered on his door like a lunatic. He was still dressed and the lights were on, and he stared at her like she was a bill collector. "Oh, hey."

No time for this. She shoved him aside and wheeled her suitcase in his apartment. "I'm taking everything."

"Raye, you—"

"Shut up." The first word was enunciated. "I don't want to fucking talk to you, at all, understood? I'm getting her things and leaving." Already her eyes were darting around the room in a hasty inventory. That black and white sketch looked familiar, as did that ceramic bowl. She picked both up and placed them in the suitcase.

He seemed to admit defeat and took a long drag on his cigarette. "Aren't you even going to—"

"No." She pulled more objects down: a picture frame, a scarf, a jacket. She wasn't sure whose brushes those were, but she grabbed them anyway. "You will not speak."

She ran through the bedroom, swiping clothing that she didn't bother to fold. She pulled another painting off the wall, and realizing that she was running out of room, looked for another source.

She found a cardboard box full of vinyl records, and upended it without ceremony. She felt him start to protest. "Shut it!"

Finally, her sweep was over. She precariously balanced the box on the suitcase and prepared to roll the whole thing out.

"Do you—" he started.

Raye turned and stared him down, a practice she had started in junior high, and was very, very good at it by this point. She had him pinned. "Do not contact her. Do not call her; do not come around, do not email or pass messages through friends. If I missed something, or you need something, you call me, and we'll work it out between us. Not her. Me. Get it?"

He brought his cigarette to his lips again and turned his head sideways, away from her. She resisted the urge to punch his lights out. "Fine."

"Good." She pulled open the door.

"Raye."

Furious, she spun around. "What?"

He gestured with the Parliament. "You're not wearing a coat."

She hadn't noticed until now. "Why the fuck do you care?" The door slammed behind her.

On the way back, she took a wrong turn, cursed, and tried to pull an illegal U before getting boxed in by an oncoming car that blared its horn.

Back home, she parked and juggled the suitcase and flimsy box down the dark sidewalk, the frigid wind slashing through the fibers of her clothing. She was almost at the corner when she felt the side of the box give, and a few random objects feel to the sidewalk in muffled cracks that echoed down the dark, silent street.

The clattering did her in, and her back hit the stone as she slid down to the sidewalk, her shoulders heaving as she pulled her knees to her chest.

Her friend was hurting. Her best friend was hurting. Raye had held her, stroked her hair, felt the tremors of grief wrack her body, set out on a difficult retrieval mission, and all the while, the same selfish thought swirled in her mind like a poisonous black cloud.

Thank God it's not me.

What kind of friend wipes away tears and then thinks that? What kind of person thinks that? What kind of fucking human being feels relief that the bullet misses her and hits someone else, someone she loves?

She let her head sink down into her arms and shivered, almost physically sick from shame.

It made her realize that she hadn't stopped hating herself yet.

When she could no longer ignore the cold chilling her to the bone, she picked herself up, gathered the fallen objects, and trudged heavily up the stairs to her apartment, her face sliding back into an indifferent mask.

Jason was really asleep when she returned. Silently, she left the stuffed suitcase and box on the floor and continued to her bedroom. Mina was curled up on her bed, the grief still clinging to her, even while asleep.

Raye slid in next to her, leaned her head into the pillow and stared into her friend's slumbering face.

When Mina woke up, she wouldn't know what to do next.

She had created a small problem and had come through with a small solution.

She touched her friend's hair gently and hoped that she had helped.