My friend. I have a friend. Surprising actually, that I managed even that much. Even more surprising, aside from this friend, I have managed to find a fiancé, who, although as amazing and kind as she is; I no longer love. I do still love however. My friend. I fell in love with my friend. My best friend actually. I remember talking to her for this first time. I knew I found her attractive, though I had yet to find that quality that I love so much now. I don’t remember when I found that quality— I call it “that quality” because I have no other word to describe it – it simply evolved over time. One moment I do remember perfectly was that moment I discovered a fact that still rips my soul to shreds. I was sitting next to her at our work, and we were talking about something stupid like we always do, except this time was different. I had planned it perfectly, I had thought about it over and over again until I was beginning to talk myself into it, in short, if things worked out the way I wanted them to—I don’t why I thought this time would be different—I would leave my fiancé (at the time girlfriend) and we could be happy. To start this off I casually asked if she had a boyfriend—if there was one, he could be dealt with easily enough, I’ve had much more challenging problems then that—hoping that it could at least begin a dialogue that would ultimately end in perfection. Unfortunately she just stared at me. Stunned I would say her expression was. Shocked. Horrified. Almost Disgusted, not quite, but almost. I began to panic, “What the hell did I say?” I scrambled to myself “Did I accidently kill her mother while I was saying that? Did I accidently shoot a snot rocket right on her face?” these were the only things I could think to myself. However she, even in her beguiled state, managed to utter “A what…?” I repeated myself, although not as slyly as the first time and in a timid manner “A boyfriend… Do you have a boyfriend?” That same look of complete and total confusion was still on her face, but she managed to get through that and slowly whispered to me—almost as if she were embarrassed for me that I didn’t know—“Allen… I’m Gay.” I would say my world turned upside down, but you need a sense of direction for that to apply. For all I knew my world was slipping into an unknown and unfathomable dimension of space and time. Of course I slipped into a state that every logical person would. Denial. “No.” I said stupidly and firmly thinking it would change something; even if it was a stupid thing to say it was the only thing I could say. The only thing she could do was look at me, with eyes like cue balls dotted with beautiful hazel irises, and slowly nod her head. I finally managed to move past the denial, and moved in the second and current state of mind. Arrant depression and total misery. Of course I can’t tell anyone of my true feelings, to tell my fiancé would be completely absurd. And no, leaving her is not an option; she is so mentally unstable I am unmistaken that she would kill herself if I, yet another man, left her for someone else. And to leave her for my friend would be a hopeless pursuit of the perfection I so desire. I could tell my friend of what I’ve been feeling the past year and a half, believe me I’ve thought about it. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve both been laughing and looked up at each other, and I find myself drowning in her alluring, hypnotizing eyes, and I almost say it, I feel it creeping up my throat and my heart begin to pound with the entire world stopped still yet spinning in every possible direction. And yet, I never find it within myself to tell her the truth. Occasionally me and my friend will go out and drink, or stay inside and do the same; sometimes we bring my fiancé. Me being a lightweight, I usually passed out somewhere in the apartment we were living at, leaving those two alone. The first three times my fiancé drank with us, after I was no longer part of the equation, they kissed. Passionately from what I understand. The first time, my friend texted me the morning afterword admitting to this, I laughed about it to both her and my fiancé. Inside the decay that had already begun months ago quickened its pace. What hurt the most wasn’t the infidelity of it all, it was the fact that my fiancé was kissing the girl I’d fallen in love with. I felt alone, betrayed by both of them, and most of all, I felt strangely obliged to say nothing to anyone. And so I didn’t. This is the first time I’ve told anyone about the way I feel. Even as I write this now, I get a great feeling of uneasiness and uncertainty about all of it. I figure it’s about time I let everything out. My friend—let’s just call her Megan—has a friend named Haylie. Haylie has been with the same man, whom she met in high school, for about eight years now. Megan and Haylie moved in together as college roommates, but soon after they moved in together, Megan began to develop feelings for Haylie. Haylie I’ve heard has always been a manipulative person, no one actually knows what she wants or thinks, due to the fact that what she wants and thinks is usually exactly what you want and think. Using this tactic Haylie eventually seduced Megan into a strange covert relationship, hidden from the world and most importantly from Haylie’s boyfriend. The saddest truth of it all is that Haylie never really cared about Megan; she simply enjoys the thrill of bending her and other’s morals to the breaking point. The part that pains me, most of all is that Haylie had a chance with Megan; something I would kill for, leave my amazing job for, burn my possessions for. And she toyed with it and threw it away like it was nothing. Currently they are still friends, but have since parted ways in the terms of living together. However I did something incredibly self-destructive and foolish. I invited Megan to live with me and my fiancé in the spare bedroom of the house we had just bought. How did I think that would solve anything? When you’re in love with someone you definitely shouldn’t be, you need to distance yourself from them, cut contact with them, and in extreme cases basically perform a damnatio memoriae. Why would I have her be as close as possible to me? A constant reminder of what I can never even dream to have. The first month she moved in with us was perfectly fine and normal. I even thought I might be able to swallow all my feelings for her and store them in some deep abyss lurking in my brain. That was until Megan came to my bachelor party. At first it was your typical bachelor party, smoking cigars, drinking liquor, and of course—against my wishes—strippers. Megan naturally bonded with the strippers and we had pretty fun and relaxing time. That was until the Oreo. She—drunk out of her mind—had snuck into one of the guy’s rooms and found a package of Oreos, to which she helped herself. She and I were alone in the upstairs hallway when she shoved an Oreo into my mouth and told me to close my eyes. Me, being completely wasted at this point, did what she asked without even thinking about it, that was when she kissed me and took the Oreo out of my mouth with her lips. I remember feeling my stomach drop instantly, I felt a spark of hope ignite in my heart and my thoughts run wild. She put another Oreo in my mouth before I could say or do anything and repeated exactly what happened before. I opened my eyes and looked at her for what I felt was an eternity but know now was only half a second. Just as quickly as it began, it was over, a friend of mine—my fiancé’s brother-in-law actually—came up the stairs just then. Megan put an Oreo in his mouth and did the exact same thing, but instead kissed him probably twice as long as me. They both just laughed, I joined in hesitantly, all the while feeling my heart implode. I wasn’t special. She didn’t care about me; she just wanted the rush of it all. That was when I realized she had become exactly like Haylie. Despite knowing that everything that had happened the night before was I lie, I still allowed myself to get drunk with her again, this time with my fiancé and her friend. And just as it has always gone, it started simply as a benign get-together. However, my fiancé got tired and went upstairs to lie in bed, and not even three minutes after she had gone up, I was smoking an herbal e-cigarette, and right after I had inhaled the smoke Megan put her hand on my back. She pulled me in and pressed her lips on mine, my jaw dropped slightly out of shock and pure excitement, and in that window of opportunity she sucked the smoke out of my mouth, pulled away, tilted her head back, and blew the smoke up towards the heavens. She slowly lowered her head, savoring every moment. I made eye contact with her, and took another drag from the cigarette. I wanted more. This time I pulled her in, put my hand on her back, she put her arms around my waist, and blew my smoke into her mouth. I ended the strange ritual with a residual kiss, something that was completely smoke unrelated. We stepped away from each other and I looked into her eyes once more. I nearly confessed everything I had been feeling right there, however I held my tongue. Probably for the best considering what she said next. As I was staring into her ocean of an iris, she laughed in that drunken sort of way, and said to me “Allen, you can’t trust anyone, especially me.” And she continued laughing after that. I still don’t know what exactly she meant by that, and I’ll probably never know. Both of the times I just recounted, she woke up the next morning and couldn’t remember a thing. I even asked her “Do you remember anything that happened last night?” She stared at the ground for a few seconds and said “No, and I don’t think I want to know.” What does that even mean? Does she secretly suspect what may have happened and simply refused to acknowledge it? I have no idea. I feel lost and alone. I find my mind racing all day everyday about her. I’ve even prayed to God for my fiancé to find someone who truly deserves her and by some miracle have Megan take me. I don’t know what to do. More later.