“And you smacked my hand and yelled at me to drop it and…?”

Oh you dumbass.

“Oh wow now wait a minute, no no no now listen…”

“Yes you did! You did that! You yelled at me in front of Ben and Nadia! And you…”

“Listen to me. I didn’t yell at you and…”

“It was so fucking rude! I was so embarrassed and…”

But I’m done with the niceties.

“What do you expect? Huh? I had to react! There was a fucking cop! Would you rather I be all nice about it and have you or me or all of us go to jail or have to bail you out of jail? You don’t even try to hide it! You could at least be inconspicuous and be a little more aware of your surroundings but you’re not! You know you’ve dropped ash 6 times on my carpet and 3 times on my couches now in the last 2 weekends you’ve been here but…”

“Oh you bastard! So now you’re counting yeah? What do you want, you want me to buy you a new floor?”

“Oh shut up. You couldn’t afford a floorboard. You never pay for shit and you know it.”

“Ugh. You are so rude and vulgar and such an…”

She can’t find a synonym for the word so she settles for old faithful “…asshole! You’re an animal! You’re unbearable! You’re just…”

“Yeah. Ok. Ok. I’m an asshole. At least I’m an aware asshole. You’re rude and you don’t even know it.”

“I’m rude?! How am I rude-uh?”

“It’s the way you talk-UH. It’s everything! You don’t ask for things. You demand them. Give me this. Give me the pipe. Give me a cigarette. Give me a kiss. And it’s not just me. Its waiters and people who serve you. You’re like the stepmom in Cinderella. Give me more bacon. This bacon’s burnt. I want different bread. This bread’s too crunchy. Where’s my butter. I haven’t heard you say please or thank you once since I met you. You’re an ungrateful little girl and you think everyone else is dumb and you’re not when usually it’s the opposite and you’ve been looking at me saying ew all day and all I’ve been wanting to do is say it right back to your stupid little pug-face. But that would be rude in itself. Get it?”

She sits there for a minute staring at me with her mouth wide open like a cheerleader in an advanced theoretical Physics lecture. Finally she absorbs enough to understand the gist.

“Alright,” she says as she climbs off my bed.

No tears now. Just resolve.

“I’ll see you around.”

She goes straight for the door and leaves without saying a word to anyone.

I sit there on the bed and feel like shit for telling her the truth like that. Hell. No wonder we’re all in therapy. We’ve been taught to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. That the truth is righteous, that the truth will set you free and clear your conscience and how it’s the right and lies are wrong. And maybe there’s a lot of truth to that. But the problem is that the benefits of telling the truth fall solely on the giver and not the receiver of the truth. So it’s self-righteous and pompous regardless of intention. The receiver of the truth is the one who has to live with it and the one that gives it is then also plagued with the guilt of giving it. Telling the truth is a wasteful and selfish act. A nasty grey area at best. Kind of like snitching. Which itself is a form of truth. But where I’m from, you beat the shit out of a snitch. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because he’s just not to be trusted again. Maybe because second chances rarely happen in real life and we have a desire to kill off the weak for the good of the herd’s genetics. But maybe it’s just that there’s something righteous about keeping your mouth shut and not blurting out the truth to the world and hurting someone else. Even if they deserve it. Because maybe it’s just not your place to tell that truth. And maybe that’s the truth they don’t tell us –- that telling the truth isn’t really the right thing to do. Butt. The fuck. Do I know. Maybe I’m just high.

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