I don't want to talk about Claude.

Of course, all Ronnie seemed to want to talk about was the fight, and about Claude. She stormed into my bedroom around 2 PM the next day, breaking the unspoken rule about never entering my bedroom; it would have helped if I had actually told her about the rule, but it's an unspoken rule, so that doesn't need any explanation does it? She brought two paper cups of coffee with her, the Tim Horton's logo promising to royally fuck up my day and with great gusto.

"I'm bored," Ronnie said as she dropped onto my bed. "You should call Claude."

"I'm not apologizing, so no. Please leave."

She waved the cup of instant death as if it was supposed to entice me. This was her trump card. "I brought you coffee, and everybody knows that anybody who brings you coffee is your friend for life. Ergo, I get to stay."

"A: you made that up, and B: coffee will kill me. It's a temporary thing, but it still hurts like a sonofabitch."

"Whoa! Seriously?"

"Let's just say the head of Starbucks is not a vampire. Unless he is really fucking Evil. With a Capital E. Now get the fuck out of my bedroom."

"You were an asshole to your best friend of twenty fucking years, and now you're being an asshole to me." Ronnie placed the extra cup of coffee onto the black Ikea table that was 'temporarily' serving as a bedside table and glared at me as if she wanted to hit me. "I'm either going to hit you or jump on your bed until you come to your senses."

"Please don't jump on my bed--"

Ronnie jumped up onto the bed, coffee cup still in hand. She stepped over me and grinned wickedly.

"Call him!" She yelled. "Call him, or I jump!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

She would, and she did. It used to be a favourite torture tactic from when I lived with my mom. Ronnie and Imelda were tasked with waking me up on the weekends after Mom had decided I had slept long enough. Nobody slept past noon at my mom's house. It was a particularly cruel tactic when I had a hangover and only three hours of sleep. It was also made crueler since I was waking up with the ritual morning erection and movement was 'difficult.' I would wake up to the shrill voices of my two almost teenage cousins, and the constant bumping motion of the bed as their feet danced all around me. And you thought morning wood couldn't get any more uncomfortable. Let's just say that Saturday mornings were a torture I never wanted to relive.

And yet, there I was, reliving the torture of Ronnie jumping all over my bed. I threw off the covers, unable to take it anymore. Ronnie cackled evilly and triumphantly.

"So you're going to call him?"

"Can you please leave my bedroom? You're being an asshole to me, and you know what? So was Claude! Something you both have in common. So, what was your point again?"

"Call him. You know you want to."

"Fuck you, no."

Ronnie glowered as she slurped at her coffee. It's the lids on the Tim Horton's cups: They make it impossible to drink or sip. You have to slurp the coffee and then suffer when it inevitably slops out onto your hand.

"Can we at least talk about this?"

"I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about Claude. I don't want to talk about anything." I looked Ronnie in the eye. "There's a reason I live alone, you know."

Silence, then: "I thought it was because Jaime dumped your dumb ass."

I stomped off to the bathroom, determined to be done with this conversation.

"Fuck you, fuck Claude, fuck this and just so you didn't get it the first time: fuck you."

I slammed the door for effect and just stood there for a moment, wondering if Ronnie would actually take the not-hint. She didn't.

"So... I shouldn't have sent him that text that you were really, really, really sorry?"

I opened the door. Ronnie held out the phone to me, and I took it from her.

"He's going to know it was you and not me," I said. "He knows it would take me at least a week before I broke down."

"You guys have fought like this before?"

"No, but he knows how much of an asshole I can be. This is just going to take time, okay? You can't rush some things, no matter how much it hurts."

"You guys suck. Now, who's supposed to show me around?"

I just glared at her, and she grinned hopefully.

"I'm going to close this door again."

"Seriously, you picked a sucky time to have a fight!"

I closed the door.

I didn't slam it.