You arrived at the apartment early and knocked on the door. The people who called you ‘friend’ welcomed you in. You sat at the counter and immediately asked to be given a hit. She complied and although suspicion flooded your system, you remained calm, smiling, talking. You keep the Pen in your hand.

Another comes into the room. You’ve deliberately stayed away from getting close to the roommate. She has nothing of use to you. The night carries on, and gambling and drinks continue to build. You take more hits and more hits of the dab pen, and your ‘friend’ asks, “Could I get that back?” Your mask slips. You’re crossed. You give a short glare and hand it back before returning to the all-too-well smile. You hope they don’t catch you.

She is there.

Your crush and her girlfriend, too. Although you are still betting and drinking and taking more hits you remain cheery and try not to shout that you should be the one holding their hand. You should be the one grabbing them a drink. You should be theirs.

But you are not, so you sit there staring at the rounds of cards. 

The party decides to take a break. You ask to use your ‘friend’s’ bathroom, knowing you aren’t the only one who has. As you wash your hands you stare at yourself in the mirror. This isn’t what you deserve. 

As you dry your hands you see a small box on the counter. Your ‘friend’s’ glasses are set atop it, but that hardly matters as you open the box to find her cash tips stored away. 

You don’t remember why you did it but you remember leaving quickly afterwards. A few weeks later you receive a text from the others. You didn’t respond. You knew you did all they accused you of, especially the money.

You get up from the bed and head to your bathroom. You stand there in front of the sink. Turn on the faucet. The water gets hot. It becomes so hot that steam flows toward your face. The sound of the water shhhh-ing into the pool in the bowl. You noticed that the money from a box on your sink was missing.