Betrayal.
It’s the oldest story in the world.
You’re excited about something, so you decide to share it with the people you thought you could trust.
In my case, it was the location of an apartment : mold-free, relatively close to campus, and only robbed once.
Although you normally have your defenses up, you’re only human. You crack.
I should have known when my “friends” asked me for the landlord’s phone number. “Just in case”, they said. What a fool I was. They don’t even have my phone number saved.
And the vulnerability feels worth it when they celebrate with you, for you.
“Think about all the parties you’ll throw,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said, fattening me up with false promises and Four Loko fever dreams.
That’s what makes it so much harder when they turn around and stab you in the back.
What on earth do you mean “another interested group,” mister landlord? I know I never respond to your emails, but I overshared with you already. I don’t tell just anyone that the reason I don’t need a parking spot is because I’m waiting for cars to start driving themselves.
They’ll steal away your happiness from right underneath you.
I thought we had a verbal agreement, and we all know those are never supposed to fall through! Who are these people, and could I take them in a fight?
The worst part is when they feign ignorance about their bold-faced lies.
Oh, four other boys? Do they, by any chance, look like hypebeasts and smell like traitors?
Your walls go back up, and you wonder if you will ever trust again.
I’m not convinced I like my bitch-ass, lease-stealing friends enough to give up the apartment and risk having to live in that weird outdoor trap space in the SciLi or the warm vent outside the Biomed Centre. Hardwood floors or the homies? A fully furnished apartment… or friendship? Is this really what it has come to?
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