A Perfect Friend

Wait. Open your eyes. I wonder if you want to be my friend. If you want someone - someone to trust, someone to wait for, someone who covers your eyes if it's too dark of if there is too much blood. I wonder if you would like to have a shoulder to cry on if one of your relatives dies.

Do you even cry? Spontaneously I imagine your eyes drowning in hot streams of tears. I imagine you sobbing in my arms about how wretched you are. You have no idea. Of course if I take duty as being your friend, I'll make your happiness certain, unavoidable and, if possible, independent. I imagine you crawling into my lap every time someone insults you, every time someone rapes you. Your eyes puffy and red, your cheeks flushed, rest of your face pale. As a friend of yours, I take away it all, I clean you. Every time you leave me you're virgin again. There's no way back.

Do you want to laugh with me? 'Cause that's what friends do, isn't it? Every time you're happy means a reward to me. I have done another piece of a good work. I attained my final destination. When there's nothing more than pure happiness on your face, I laugh with you. I laugh because I want to make you laugh over and over again and never stop. My laugh isn't real. Of course it isn't, how could it be? I'm here to make you happy, not laugh myself. Only awareness of your happiness makes me pretend. I'm glad I'm not failing my mission.

I suppose you can trust me. I will help you with everything whether you ask me to or not. I will do everything to make you solve your problems, if not solving them myself, naturally. And then you come to me and tell me, how grateful you are and I upgrade myself. I'm the best and still getting better. I can fully understand, what friendship means. It means I will kill myself for you anytime you want and you will kill yourself too, 'cause you can't live without your very best friend, can you? It means me helping you with your troubles and it means unwavering trust. It means every perfect affair. Friendship is perfect, isn't it?

Then why are we enemies? Why are we like this? You said you want it all perfect for me, for us. What is it if it's not friendship?

Let me just shift this for a moment. Aren't I worth you? Why can't you call me your friend? It's true that we're going well, but I'm not always around, god knows what could happen to you. I'm not confirming everything you say, I don't listen to you when I want to speak. I call you stupid, worthless bastard and I bite you. Friends don't bite each other. As we are like this, I feel guilty for wishing you were dead, wishing to poison you and watch your blood turn black and bleed slowly out of you. I think if I was you friend, I wouldn't want to hit you so hard you'd pass out, wouldn't sometimes want to break your every single bone. I guess I wouldn't insult you or sometimes want you to fuck my brains out. With no emotions, no carefulness, no crying. A perfect friend doesn't speak up his mind, he smiles, he jokes, he pleases. We could be like that, you know. It would be easy for us.

But why do you say you like the way we are? That you need no mental closeness, no trust, no secrets. I can't understand how you are able to assume it couldn't be good. Isn't it worth a try? Aren't I reliable enough?

As I'm so closely bound to darkness, I find it beautiful. You could see it too. Why don't you let me open your eyes to face my world? The world of a Malfoy. You would face every lethal thing that's part of my everyday life. You don't need windows, blood and sorrow are seen anywhere. Maybe, if I took you into my room in the dungeons, if I showed you where I sleep and think about being your friend, you would understand why I'm so powerful and you would see the beauty of my life.

Especially those days when I'm lying across my bed with my eyes closed, my left hand in the expensive trousers I'm wearing, stroking so hard that it hurts, I feel as if nothing could touch me, stain me or have an effect on me. I feel separate from the whole world and I think you're feeling like this all the time, you could never have a clue, what it might be like to be me until I showed you. And I envy you because of that. Look at you. You see the sun every day, you get your face washed by bitter rain. The same rain drops over me and I often find myself wondering if you're thinking about me when you watch it and drink it. You have people who love you. Lots and lots of them. They smile at you, help you, tell you how their days were. That's a thing I don't envy. I could never imagine someone being bound to me, depend on me and want to be with me. I have told you that, but you just looked at me as if you didn't get it. So now when I truly want closeness, someone - you - to want me, you push me away and say we're not alike enough to be friends. And you're not meeting my eyes. You try to seem miserable, but I see right through you, I see you pretending. I see you like me the way I am, but why? If finally crying out seemed the best part of it to lots of people, I wouldn't be one of them. For me it's only waking up to loneliness again, it's only stopping mooning over unnatural things (like you) and curling up in my cold bed sheets fully dressed and shouting into the darkness, though I can't hear a sound. I'm always deaf afterwards, must be some peculiar side effect. And no one hears me either, fortunately. My father would say I'm weak, that he's ashamed of me and I would banish myself for that. I would swear on my mother's grave I won't let him down again. I would kneel before him, I would almost lie on the stone floor that could never be anything but cold.

Being your friend wouldn't change things. I could maybe just taste a bit of your life. Maybe I could even know someone needs me, only for a moment. You've said you need me, when I asked, but I didn't believe you. What if you only say that so that I could relax and smile and think about it later?

As a friend I wouldn't let anyone touch you beside myself. Maybe you never could shake hands with someone you love, but at least you would be safe.

Though I want this all desperately, I do everything as you wish. This is not an exception. Maybe in my own heart I can believe whatever I want. So tell me, what you want. Exactly.

I guess I can take you now, but don't close your eyes. It makes me feel bad.