I came back one weekend to visit my best friend back home. We hung out a bit at his house, and it was okay, but I think we had just grown apart as people. After a bit, he said he felt kinda tired and asked if we wanted to call it a night. I could take a hint, whatever, but he offered the spare room upstairs since it was getting late so I wouldn't fall asleep while driving. I accepted, but I felt weird and couldn't go to sleep. His parent's room was in the next room over.

I could still hear him through the floor playing video games (after he said he was tired) when his brother came into the room. It was something like, "Hey, is ___ gone?" "Nah, he's upstairs." "What is up with him?" "I don't know, he hasn't been fun to hang around since high school." They stayed up playing games for a couple hours while I just laid in bed.

I came to the realization that he was an awful friend. All the times in high school where we would mock his friends behind their back. I saw myself as his one true friend, like his number two. I didn't have any other friends, so I just assumed that's how these things work: you hang out with someone until you decide you don't like them anymore, then talk shit behind their back and exclude them from things and passive aggressively mock them until they take the hint. I was devastated to realize that I was a bully, and now he was doing it to me. I don't know how I never realized this was inevitable.

The worst part is that I acted like nothing happened. That night, I just wanted to leave, never talk to him again, but I couldn't go through with it. He was my best friend, so instead I tried my best to prove him wrong whenever we hung out.

I finally confronted him about it months later, but he denied it and did a woe-is-me act. Never owned up to it, never apologized.