Angry – A Sketch

I wrote this tiny sketch a while ago. It’s not going to go anywhere, but I wanted to post it anyways. 🙂

I took a good, long look into his face and realized he was lying. That really ticked me off. I hadn’t lied to him. Ever. And now, after I was so kind to him, he was lying to me? “You’ve never even talked to Monica?” I asked skeptically.

“Nope,” He shrugged, trying to look perfectly innocent. He ran a hand through his perfectly gelled black hair.

That was it, “I know you’re lying. Cut it out.”

A blank look appeared on his face, “Em, you don’t… you don’t trust me?” He tried his best to look puzzled and hurt, pulling his eyebrows together and letting his mouth droop sadly.

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t lie to me. I can see right through it, and no, I don’t trust you anymore. If you’re lying about Monica than the whole basis of our friendship is a lie. Please just tell me, Mark.”

He let his little charade end, by suddenly standing up straight and widening his eyes innocently. “It was just a stupid, little lie anyways. I didn’t know it would hurt you so much. I told you that I didn’t know the Franks because… they embarrass me. I’m sure you can see why. And Monica… she’s the worst, but I dated her for a while in sixth or maybe fifth grade. I didn’t realize that she and her family were such dorks.” He smiled a real smile, but it was full of his stupid charm, and asked, “Forgive me?”

A whole torrent of thoughts were running through my head and I didn’t know which one to reveal first, “You’re such a faker. You’ve always been so real with me, but with everyone else you’re fake, and sixth grade! Are you kidding me? They aren’t freaks anyways. The Franks are good people, and you can’t see that because they’re a little different from everyone else. I’m different, Mark. Okay?” I ended my tirade in confused silence. I always let my emotions out like that, when they had built up a little, and you could never be sure that it would make any sense.

He looked at me blankly, his eyes glassing over, arms crossed. “What?” He finally asked, snorting, “The only reason I was ‘real with you’ was because I thought I could trust you, but now that you’ve gone and told everyone about my feelings about Georgia I… I can’t trust you anymore.”
“Georgia? I never told anyone about Georgia.” I said.

“I see that glint in your eye. You’re lying,” He said, mockingly, suddenly blowing up like I did, “faker, freaks, different…SIXTH GRADE!” He yelled, so fast that the words slurred together, “QUIT JUDGING ME!” And with this final explosion of frustration, he left.

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