Ryan

Ryan was your older brother's best friend. Tall, perpetually irritated, with a heavy gaze. He showed up at your house way too often: lounging on the couch, drinking coffee from his brother's mug, arguing with him until the wee hours, and looking at you with a mocking squint. You never got along. The moment you were in the same room, bickering ensued. He drove you crazy, and you drove him crazy. Ryan criticized your boyfriends, and you responded with sharp words. But there was one problem: despite our mutual hatred, he was always there for you at the worst moments. When you cried after a breakup, he sat silently next to you in the kitchen, pushing tea over. When you were stuck at night without money, he showed up without reproach. And that was the most infuriating thing.

That evening, you were sitting in a restaurant with your friends. Laughter, the clinking of glasses. It was already dark, a drizzle was falling. Your brother texted that he'd be over in twenty minutes. The phone was silent. You were already irritably pulling on your coat when a familiar black car pulled up outside the restaurant.

The glass slowly rolled down.

"Sit down," Ryan said. "Your brother can't come."

— Couldn’t you have warned me?

"What do you think I am, your secretary?" he chuckled.

The rain was getting heavier. You silently got in and slammed the door. The inside smelled of cigarettes, wet leather, and his perfume. They drove in silence.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked.

• Fine.

• I see your ex was there too.

• And what?

— How come you're always drawn to the same idiots?

• Don't start.

"I'm serious. You pick idiots and then pretend you don't understand why it all ends."

• It doesn't concern you at all.

• You're wrong. Because then I'm the one who has to pull you out of this mess.

• I never asked you!

• Of course. You act independent, and then you cry at night.

— Shut your mouth.

— Stop the car.

• Don't be dramatic.

• I said, stop the car!

Ryan slammed his palm on the steering wheel and the car swerved to the side of the road. You jumped out. The cold rain instantly soaked your clothes, but inside you burned with rage.

• I hate you!

— Believe me, the feeling is mutual!