sixteen - being a good friend (life sucks)

the art of being a good friend (life sucks)

- - -

When Jem phoned me, panicked, I knew I didn't have a choice but to rush home and lock up the bakery.

A million thoughts were running through my mind as I reached my apartment, but all of them dissipated when I spotted Hendrix waiting outside my door. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, head down as she stared at her feet shuffling side to side.

That's when I knew she wasn't truly focused because if she was, she would've used her spare key or the key Sacha had hidden in the worst spot possible just three steps away.

Placing my arm around her shoulder, I opened the apartment door and led us towards my bedroom, sitting us both down on the bed. She sat cross-legged purely on instinct, head lolling down as her eyes traced over the pattern on my comforter.

We sat there for a while in complete silence. Hendrix's green hair had dimmed over the time she'd taken from dying it, with her brown roots beginning to show. This was usually the time where she'd be picking a new color, or annoying Jem into helping her host another party. Hendrix wasn't a quiet person.

Her finger twitched, falling into a rhythm as she stared at my bed linen. Her gaze was unfocused. She had a red twinge in her eyes and that was when I noticed the dried tear tracks down her face. My stomach twisted painfully as I thought back over Jem's words, how unsettled their voice sounded as they told me what happened.

Hendrix had told me that she didn't like it when she started to fidget, as it often sent her into a spiral that she couldn't pull herself out of. I grabbed her hand in mine, intertwined our fingers together and effectively stopped the twitching. She didn't react visibly and just let me move her hand until it settled.

After what felt like forever, Hendrix blinked, looking over at me as if she was surprised that I was here, even though we'd been sitting together on her bed for at least an hour.

Her gaze flickered down, to where our hands were entwined together.

"She's been cheating on me." She said, voice raspy through misuse.

I nodded my head, words soft. "Jem told me when they phoned."

Hendrix nodded slowly, swallowing visibly and eyes clenching shut, as if it physically pained her to keep them open. "We've been together since I was eighteen. She's been sleeping with a girl from work for the last year."

I bit down on my lip, my heart clenching at the pain I know my best friend must be going through.

"She's called Mariana. Ali calls her Mari. All those nights I thought she was out with her friends, comforting them through breakups and family drama and-" She cut herself off, shaking her head. Tears built up in her eyes as she squeezed my hand. "I thought they were just friends, Saint. She told me they were friends and I trusted her while she's been-"

Her voice broke, and it took everything within me to not shatter. Bile rose in my throat.

Hendrix was tough. Always has been. From the moment I met her, I knew just how brazen and outspoken she was, how nothing phased her because she was so effortlessly confident and unapologetically herself. I admire that about her. She never doubts herself as a person, as a friend, as a girlfriend because, despite the sarcasm and quick-witted remarks, she cared more than anyone else. She loved Ali like no other, adored her entire soul with every inch of her being and you could see it in the way she looked at her. To love someone so relentlessly, without conditions, was scary, and Hendrix trusted Aaliyah with that part of her.

And Ali had taken that trust and destroyed it.

I leaned over and hugged her, at a loss for words. I'm angry, and upset, and disappointed. Because, despite our adversities, Ali was my friend. I'd known her for three years. We'd gone to concerts together and game nights. I trusted her to not hurt Hendrix, to not break her spirit.

"I wanted to marry her, Saint." Hendrix admitted quietly. Her head dropped onto mine, and I gripped her tighter and let her talk, knowing that she needed to let this out more than anything. "That's why she told me...she found the ring. She didn't want to lie to me anymore. All I ever did was love her." She said the last sentence so quietly that I almost missed it, gentle in a way that Hendrix's never been before. A confession that she didn't even realize that she'd made. "God, I'm so stupid."

I guess that's the thing about love. You trust someone with every part of you. The good, the bad, your imperfections. You give somebody every part of yourself and trust them to hold it, to treat it gently. You put your happiness in other people's hands and hope desperately that they won't drop it, that they won't rip into shreds with the remains of your self worth. It's a dangerous game and it's fucking terrifying.

"She fucked up," I forced out through the lump in my throat, "Hendrix, my heart is aching for you. I love you so much, okay? I'm going to be here with you through everything. You need to rant, you need someone to listen, you need advice? I'm here, I'm not leaving and I love you. You're my sister, and you don't deserve any of this."

"Three years of my life and it's over within ten seconds. I just can't, I-" Hendrix laughed bitterly, forcefully shaking her head. Her hand squeezed mine as I rubbed my thumb in circles along her skin. She croaked, "Please don't leave me too, Saint."

"Never." I promised wholeheartedly.

And then she crumbled.

I'd never seen anything like it. It was like someone had cut a string and suddenly, Hendrix was sobbing loudly, clutching at her chest as her entire body shook. I pulled her to my chest, drawing her as close as possible.

"Hey, I've got you." I whispered. I held her close to me, her sobs getting louder as she tried to muffle them against her palms. The door to my room flew open as Jem made straight for Hendrix.

"Hey, Drizella." Jem murmured, climbing on the bed next to us. They reached out for her, face solemn as she fell into them.

Jem had phoned telling me of Hendrix's discovery, how they found her borderline comatose on the floor of their living room. She had rushed off before they managed to stop her. Jem decided to phone Aaliyah, as we tended to do on instinct because Ali always knew how to help Hendrix in a way that we didn't understand.

Aaliyah was the one who told Jem, the person they spent months tormenting, of her woes. Then Jem, knowing exactly where Hendrix would seek out sanctuary, phoned me.

"Jem," Hendrix gasped, shifting into their arms. The tears didn't stop running down her face. "I can't believe she...She..."

"I know, darling."

"I can't believe she'd do this to me." Hendrix whimpered, breath hitching as Jem pulled her closer. "She...I knew something was wrong, Jem, but she told me everything was fine. Everything was fine. We were fine. We-" She gasped, cutting herself off as her breaths rattled.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Jem shushed, carting their hands through her hair in a bid to calm her. "This is on her, Drix. It's not your fault."

"I should've known!" Hendrix cried, shaking her head violently as sobs racked her small body. "I was supposed to know when something was wrong. I didn't eve-"

My door flies open again and I don't even have time to question who was here before I was shoved out of the way and Hendrix was pretty much thrown out of Jem's arms. They started to protest almost on instinct until Jem realized who it was. Hendrix didn't even hesitate.

"Sach," She whined, head leaning into Sacha's neck desperately. His eyes tilted upwards and met mine, sending me a silent confirmation that he knew what was happening. Jem probably phoned him after me, knowing that Hendrix needed all of us to lean on right now. His breathing was ragged, as if he'd just ran for god knows how long to get here. To Hendrix. For Hendrix.

My younger brother cradled Hendrix's head, his other hand coming to rub her back. "Let it out, love. We've got you. We're all here and we're not leaving."

I backed that statement immediately, resting my hand on Hendrix's knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. That was all it took for Hendrix to lose any shred of control, chest heaving rapidly as she cried into Sacha's shoulder.

She fell asleep, tears staining her cheeks and with a hole surrounding all of us. A hole so large and gaping that I hopefully realized that it may never be properly fixed again.

In the days that followed, Hendrix was unpredictable.

On some days, she was fine. She opened the bakery, and laughed with Sacha and Jem, and teased Kareem, and Ali's absence from her life wasn't truly noted. On others, it hit her like a freight train. I'd stay beside her as she cried, as she broke. Heart wrenching sobs because she missed her best friend, the person she thought was her soulmate. So Jem and Sacha looked after the bakery while I took her out. We'd have ice cream in Central Park, or take Kareem's sister Kezziah to a restaurant where Hendrix could distract herself in some insane food contest that I didn't even dare go against her in. Things were hard but they were doable. Regardless how dark her world seemed right now, she would survive. She would keep going and keep breathing because what other choice did she have? Aaliyah didn't deserve that satisfaction, she didn't deserve the power to destroy Hendrix entirely.

Everything seemed to shift after the second week. Hendrix had been staying with me in lieu of Sacha, who'd been staying at Kaz's. They'd been working on music non-stop, apparently creating the instrumentals to go along with most of the lyrics that we'd written together. It was safe to say that witnessing Hendrix's heartbreak had been a catalyst for Sacha's writing inspiration, as messed up as it was.

I'd woken up to hear crying so I wandered into Sacha's room, climbed into the bed and held her until her crying ceased. I don't remember how long we sat there for, Hendrix crying on my chest while I held her tightly, whispering reassurances into her ear as she could barely formulate a sentence, but something shifted. Sacha had arrived not long after with breakfast for us all, while Kareem attended a physiotherapy appointment at the VA, and Hendrix had delivered one of her infamous insults that felt so good to hear.

There's something so effortlessly beautiful about someone who doesn't let the world break them. Hendrix was always a raging inferno, a fire that didn't pass without leaving a lasting reminder of its presence. She was the perfect representation of why we name storms after people. Her fire temporarily ceased but she fought tooth and nail through the ashes and rose higher than she'd ever reached before. Despite the pain, despite feeling her heart physically breaking apart, she didn't let Aaliyah break her.

Because fire is never easily put out. If you leave even a small spark remaining, it will set everything ablaze and leave a hellfire in its wake without hesitation.

It still hurt her more than anything. That much was blatantly obvious. But she wasn't responsible for how someone treated her, she wasn't responsible for what Aaliyah did. That's on her. She cheated on someone who loved her endlessly, and she'll never find another love like that.

Hendrix will always walk away stronger. That's one of the first things I was taught about her - never underestimate a woman who was taught to reap misery on all those who crossed her.

Currently, we were shopping for new hair dye. Nothing says epic breakup like a hair breakdown, after all.

"Cobalt blue, shimmering pink or epic green?"

"I'm not staying green," Hendrix mumbled, eyes running over the row of hair dye boxes. Her arms were crossed defensively as she appeared to zone out, brows furrowing.

"You want blue then? You've not been that color for a while." I offered as light-heartedly as I could. Today was one of the bad days. Hendrix had woken up alone and climbed into my bed, sobbing as she clutched me. She'd been going in and out of focus since we woke up.

I studied the rest of the boxes, trying to find a color that might cheer her up. Hendrix tended to obsess over changing her hair and it was often completely spontaneous. She'd choose a color and get bored and change it again.

Once, she dyed it three times in one week.

When her Grandmother, Jennifer, died, Hendrix refused to dye her hair for months. Her roots grew out and her brown hair emerged for the first time in years. It was only her anniversary with Aaliyah that spiralled another change, and thus the hair dyeing phase recommenced.

"I-Sorry, what did you say?" Hendrix asked softly, pulling me from my thoughts. Her wide brown eyes were sad as they met mine, and my chest ached as I imagined the pain she was going through.

When Emery left me, I felt like I was drowning.

Once the callous words had left his lips, and he left me alone, I began to feel a weight pressing against my chest. I was completely motionless; unable to focus on anything other than the rush of blood in my ears, the way my entire body was numbed. My brain seemed to erupt, all I could hear were the words he muttered repeating over and over and over again. I felt like I'd been scraped raw, chest hollowed out.

Everything happened in slow motion, as if my understanding of time diminished. Next thing I knew, we were in the school corridor and I heard the taunts that he sent me.

Having those words thrown at me like bullets wrapped in barbed wire was the currant. The ocean's current hit fiercely and dragged me under, saltwater filling my lungs as I thrashed and fought and sobbed for mercy. Every inch of my body was burning. All the senses that had been numbed ignited fully and I was drowning in the promises that he'd broken, the sea of pain that he'd evoked.

"How do you feel about blue? It's been a while." I repeated gently.

Hendrix sniffled, eyeing the box in my hand before shaking her head.

"She didn't like pink," Hendrix murmured, voice hoarse. "Or green."

"Then let's get both." I offered, "Who gives a fuck, right?"

She sent me a small smile before nodding. I grabbed a box of the blue dye too and added it to our basket.

"Could always do half and half again? If you can't pick. Instead of white and black, you could do pink and green?" I suggested, biting at my inner cheek as I waited for her response.

It seemed like the wrong ( but very right) thing to say as Hendrix swerved round and outright glared at me. "What sort of gay are you? That would look disgusting."

"Jesus," I held my hands up, trying not to show too much enjoyment in the fact she was snapping at me. "I don't know about hair. It's not my thing."

"Then leave it to me." Hendrix mumbled, picking up a box that apparently made your hair glow in UV light. She shoved it into the basket.

"Orange?" I judged, lip curling back as I grimaced. "Really?"

She glared at me, "I'm in the midst of an existential crisis. I have a pass."

"The hair Gods would disagree," I muttered under my breath. Her hand extended and slapped my neck before I even realized what was happening, making me cry out in pain.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked before we made our way to the cashier. "We could make them alcohol brownie things that you gave to Kareem? Have a game night at mine?"

Hendrix at least had the competence to look sheepish, sending me a bashful smile. "He told you about them, then?"

"Drix, he doesn't drink. Like at all."

Her eyebrows furrowed, as if the idea of someone taking a personal oath of sobriety was a concept completely foreign to her. "Really? Why?"

"Not too sure," I shrugged, never having enquired about it. He'd tell me if he wanted to, that's if he even has a reason. "But yeah, they weren't awful."

"Can we get Sacha drunk?"

"He's eighteen."

"He's nineteen soon," She reasoned, as if it made the suggestion any better.

"Nineteen isn't twenty one."

She scoffed, grabbing a bottle of whiskey regardless. "I'm not going to remind you of the places we sneaked into at nineteen. Would you prefer I share that information with Sacha?" She said with a raised eyebrow. I was too delighted to even think about arguing with her. "Plus, he'd be legal to drink in England."

"Let's not pretend that rational is a decent excuse," I said with a laugh, "You can technically drink from the age of five in England therefore any argument you have is void."

"Dear God, why did I have to be born in this country?" She muttered, handing her ID and cash to the cashier. He handed her the change and we left, heading back towards the apartment.

"Excuse me, America is great." I deadpanned as I breathed out a laugh. I couldn't force myself to sound even remotely convincing.

"Well, one president certainly didn't help with that," She hummed, "How are you and Kareem anyway? I feel like I haven't seen you in the same room together in a minute."

Since Hendrix started staying at my apartment, I hadn't been able to go over to Kareem's overnight. We'd taken to having morning walks with King and he'd been spending more time in the bakery whenever I was working.

It'd been a little difficult to transition into seeing each other less when I'd been spending most of the week staying with him, but we'd managed. Between nightly Facetime Calls and breakfast dates, we were still as strong as we'd ever been.

"The bands preparing for their first gig with Kareem, so he'd been quite excited for that."  The corners of my lips tugged up into a smile. He was so excited but so nervous at the same time. "Things have been good though. He's really good to me."

Hendrix's expression softened, and I knew then that I didn't have to dodge the subject of relationships with her. She didn't need to ignore every happy person around her, she needed to realize just how healthy relationships are supposed to work. It should be 50/50, with slight deviations when necessary. You should never be putting more effort in than your significant other on a permanent basis because it simply won't work out.

Hendrix always prioritised Aaliyah over herself. Her entire life was mapped out around what was convenient for her partner, and not herself.

Things were going to be different now. Hendrix deserved better so that's exactly what she's going to get.

A/N:

poor hendrix :(

lots of love guys

thank you for reading!