17 Jul My Friend Lucas
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"My Friend Lucas"Written by
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Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
When I was 5, I had a best friend. Lucas was his name. He and I were practically inseparable. We’d sit next to each other in class, we’d hang out at recess and lunch in the school yard, he’d always come over and visit after school and on the weekend, you know, typical best friend stuff.
He was fiercely loyal, even to the point of beating up other kids who made fun of me. I remember one time when this older kid called Stewart was picking on me, and Lucas ended up pushing him off the monkey bars and breaking his left arm. Stewart cried like a little girl and never bullied anyone again, much to many young kids relief.
Another time a few years after that when a few kids, Shane, Ryan, and Jessie used to gang up on me and beat me up, Lucas roundhouse kicked Shane down a flight of stairs, and knocked Ryan and Jessie’s heads together so hard that they both lost teeth. When the school heard about that, I stood up and took the blame. Hell, it was the least I could do for my friend who’d helped me more times then I could count. I was let off with a slap on the wrist after showing my own bruises they’d given me first anyway.
Upon reaching highschool, Lucas went to a different school, somewhere a long way away, that I’d never heard of before, and so I had to make new friends, to make the days pass faster, though I’d always catch up with Lucas on weekends and school holidays. It was odd though, it seemed the more time I’d spend with Lucas, the more standoffish my new friends would become. He’d always show off his bruises and scars, and through some kind of best friend empathetic link, I’d always seem to be able to feel them myself, as if I’d been the one in his fight stories. He’d often offer to teach me to fight for myself, but as bullying was no longer an issue at my highschool I’d just shrug it off and tell him it would be a pointless exercise. “Well, don’t come crying to me when you get beat up.” He’d always joke, though I knew I’d always be able to rely on him in a pinch regardless.
Years went on, and we finished our school lives, still staying very close, though our lives took us down very separate paths. I became a psychologist, while he… Well, he never really liked to talk about his career. I’d often see new scars appearing on him, and more than once when we’d catch up, I’d notice blood on his clothes. Eventually, he decided he wanted to see me at my workplace, as one of my patients. I told him it would be unwise, as we were best friends, but that I could recommend a really good colleague of mine, and he eventually accepted after much convincing.
After speaking to my colleague I’d recommended Lucas too, I was surprised to hear that although he’d call, and make appointments, he’d never show up to them. I confronted Lucas about this, and simply got the answer, “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Eventually, I gave in, and took Lucas as my own patient, and was quite disturbed with what he had to say. He’d talk about his younger life, and how he’d get beat up, and then fly into a rage, and how since he was young he’s never been able to control it. He described events in such detail that I felt like they were my own memories. I mean, I had been there in his childhood, so of course I’d witnessed it happen, but parts of what he was saying, I could almost see through my own eyes. “Lucas, don’t be absurd.” I said to him, rather unprofessionally. “I was always the one getting beaten up, and you’d be the one to jump in and save me.”
“Now you’re the one being absurd.” He said calmly. “Look deep into your self, and tell me, did anyone else ever even acknowledge my existence?”
Credit To – Uforia
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