I wouldn’t pay for my broke classmate Jeremy Mabbitt to go on a trip, so my two closest childhood friends stole the money I had saved for an emergency.
When my grandma was dying, wailing in pain, I didn’t even have enough cash to buy her something as simple as painkillers.
I kept calling those two friends of mine, begging them to give me back just enough—like 10 bucks—so I could get Grandma some aspirin. But they didn’t answer.
When they finally picked up, they sounded fed up and annoyed.
“Listen, Randolf, we didn’t take your freaking card! Please, can you stop accusing us?”
“Stop making such a big deal out of it, alright?”
“Every time we hang out with Jeremy, you always think something’s going on between us! Come on, grow up!”
And in the end, my poor grandma died, her face twisted in pain. That image—it was a haunting sight.
I broke down, feeling like I’d lost a part of me.
Then, to make everything worse, Jeremy sent me a photo.
In the golden glow of the setting sun, my two childhood friends were walking ahead. One of them had a dog’s leash in one hand and Jeremy’s hand in the other.
He also sent me a message.
[They’re here with me, and they’re both mine now.]
I was so crushed that I scrubbed the wedding vows Nella and Allen had tattooed on my skin when we were 10 and they confessed their feelings to me.
On Christmas Eve, they were both dressed up, sitting in separate hotel rooms across the hall from each other—waiting for me to knock on one of their doors. They were ready to give themselves to me, body and soul.
But by then, I’d already left Phoenix and become a San Francisco Peaks forest ranger, spending my life battling loneliness in the wilderness.
——
Randolf’s POV
I’d already laid my grandma to rest and walked out of the cemetery, but my closest childhood friends hadn’t even come by—not even to say goodbye to the old woman who had worked so hard to raise all three of us.
How could they be this cruel at a time like this?
I checked my phone, only to find it flooded with debt collection messages: rent, utilities, the two girls’ tuition, and high-interest loans they’d taken out for Jeremy. The numbers just kept piling up!
I stood there with a blank look on my face, turned to face the man in the suit waiting behind me, and muttered, “Five thousand bucks. Five fingers. Just don’t force them into a nightclub. I’ll pay.”
They picked up stones and walked toward me.
And as I wailed, they broke all five of my fingers.
The pain was unbearable, and I collapsed to the ground, shaking and pale.
In a twisted show of mercy, they brought me to the hospital. Before leaving, one of them patted me on the shoulder.
“You’re loyal, I’ll give you that. We’re square now. Take care of yourself.”
After they left, I lay there trembling and asked the doctor the question that haunted me most.
“Will I still be able to play the piano?”
The doctor shook his head, pity written all over his face.
I knew what that meant.
I lost the skills that I relied on to make a living.
And a bitter laugh escaped me.
When did the two girls, who’d always depended on me as we grew up, become so cold?
Was it when I failed the high school entrance exam that year because I was working part-time to support them?
Or was it when a creepy dude stalked them, and I jumped in front to block the knife aimed at them, scaring the guy off, only for Jeremy to swoop in later and take the credit?
I didn’t know.
Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from the two of them.
[Randolf, transfer $200 to us. Jeremy wants to try the lobster tacos at Buck & Rider.]
I replied coldly. [I’ve got zero balance in my account.]
But they didn’t believe me. A voice message came through, and I could hear the frustration in their tone.
“Randolf, what’s your problem? Are you mad at us or something?”
“You make 45 bucks an hour teaching piano lessons! How come you've got zero balance in your account?!”
“Jeremy saved us, remember? Don’t let us turn him down now!”
I replied, my voice still cold.
“Someone broke my fingers. I can never play piano again.”
