Loathing

And just like that my night instantly dampened.

In walked Cassie, someone I still grapple with the idea of ever calling a friend. She was bumbling her way into the bar, purposefully loud to attract attention. I could already hear her punctuating the end of every sentence with that witchy laugh. That awful, haunted, unholy sound.

I find it strange there was ever a time that we might’ve laughed in unison. And a sound that was once so harmonious to me, is now piercing the base of my brain.

There she stood, already clinging to a large group of people as her parasitic nature demands. Her body was somewhat centered in the circle, as if to physically prevent any piece of conversation from missing her.

This was a vapid woman in very desperate need. And the list of needs was never-ending. Cassie needed validation, mainly from men and women she didn’t deem competition. Cassie needed a sympathetic ear and bullshit affirmative language she’d learned from her horribly modern therapist. She needed people to be vacant so she could take up residency in their lives until it became all-consuming.

Cassie was a horrible person. Selfish, even by my self-admittedly narcissistic standards. She’d broken ground in uncovering new ways to be a hypocrite.

And here she was. At the bar she hates solely to irk me with her presence. My face was getting hotter with each passing minute. I could feel the acidic fiery hatred rise and settle in my chest. I hated her. I hated her voice. Her clothes. Her obnoxious piercings. Her show-boating.

I’d finally reached the bottom of my glass when a resolution occurred to me. Maybe it was time to do something about Cassie…