"Gabe asked about you," Molly said casually as she interrupted my video game to chat. "He said you never wrote him back."
I grunted in response, trying not to listen, too focused on shooting people.
"I think he wants your help with something work-related."
Pausing the game, I glared at her. "Did you tell him I got fired?"
She didn't respond to my question. "It's just one case he needs help with. He said that your 'outside-the-box skills' would really help figure out something."
I groaned and went back to playing my game. "Gabe can fuck off," I muttered.
"VyVy, come on, you can't just keep playing video games, you've gotta go out." I ignored her, focused on shooting. "I know things are shitty, but they'll get better when you get back into the swing of things again. Working... Taking care of yourself... Staying sober..." She didn't seem to realize how impossible it was for me to do that. "What you're doing right now isn't helpful."
Her words coincided with me getting shot and killed in my game. I groaned and glared at her. "Honestly, you can also fuck off."
Deep inside I knew that I should've been nice to her. Molly had helped me a lot over the 7 years we'd known each other, and had been a better friend than I could've even dreamt of. But at that moment I was too broken to care. And Molly too nice to make me feel guilty. Instead, she turned and left.
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