I FOUND MY BEST FRIEND’S LIPSTICK IN MY BOYFRIEND’S CAR CUPHOLDER
I grabbed the lipstick tube from the cupholder, the metal still warm from the summer heat, and stared at the shade — *Cherry Crush*. I recognized it instantly because she’d worn it to brunch last week, laughing as she reapplied it. “Isn’t it bold?” she’d said, and I’d nodded, not thinking twice about it.
My hands shook as I twisted the tube open, the waxy red color staring back at me. The faint scent of vanilla and chemicals hit my nose, and I felt sick. “Whose is this?” I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper. He froze, the sound of the car engine idling in the background. “You already know, don’t you?” he said, not even trying to deny it.
I wanted to scream, but all I could do was clutch the lipstick tighter, the edges digging into my palm. “How long?” I asked, my voice cracking. He looked away, the dashboard lights reflecting in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone flat, like he’d rehearsed it. “It’s over.”
But as I turned to leave, my phone buzzed with a text from her: “We need to talk.”
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*I stumbled out of the car, the humid air slapping me in the face. The lipstick, a crimson weight in my hand, felt like a betrayal, a physical manifestation of the lie. I walked the block to her apartment, the silence amplifying the thumping of my heart.
When she opened the door, her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She didn’t say hello, just pulled me inside and closed the door, her movements hurried and frantic. The scent of her usual jasmine incense hung heavy in the air, but it was now laced with a distinct undercurrent of fear.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I stood there, numb, clutching the lipstick. “How long?” I echoed my boyfriend’s question, the words feeling hollow even as I spoke them.
She flinched. “A few weeks. It just… happened. He was there for me when…” She trailed off, unable to meet my gaze.
“When what?” I pressed, the silence growing thick and suffocating.
“When you were busy,” she whispered. “When you were working late. When I felt… alone.”
The words were a punch to the gut. I had been working a ton of overtime to save up for a trip, and I realized I hadn’t been present as a friend as I should. I saw the guilt in her eyes, the genuine regret. But it didn’t change the fact that they had been together, that my friend had betrayed me, and my boyfriend was the common denominator.
“He told me it was over,” I said, my voice flat. I felt empty, drained of all emotion.
She nodded, finally looking up. “He said the same thing to me.”
The gravity of the situation crashed down on me then. They were both just as hurt as I was.
I didn’t know what to say. “I need to go,” I finally managed, turning toward the door.
“Wait,” she said, her voice pleading. “Please, don’t just leave. Let’s talk. Let’s figure this out.”
I looked back at her, at the woman who had been my best friend since childhood, the one who knew me better than anyone else. Her eyes were still raw.
I knew I couldn’t fix this in a single conversation. It was going to take time. But I also knew I couldn’t just walk away. This situation had to be dealt with, and she was my best friend.
I took a deep breath, the metallic scent of the lipstick still on my fingers. “Okay,” I said, my voice stronger now. “Let’s talk.”