End of the Little Square of Discomfort

The end of her friendship with 17 began at the local thermal baths, a morning expedition that should have been relaxing but became a masterclass in social toxicity disguised as wellness tourism. The thermal complex was built around natural hot springs that had been attracting visitors since Roman times—a series of pools with different temperatures and mineral compositions, surrounded by gardens where people could rest between sessions and pretend they were living in a more civilized era.

They arrived early, when the morning light was still soft and the pools were mostly empty except for a few local elderly people conducting their daily health rituals with the dedication of religious pilgrims seeking liquid salvation. The water was perfectly heated, mineral-rich and therapeutic, rising in gentle steam that created an otherworldly atmosphere—the kind of place where healing was supposed to happen naturally, through the simple act of submersion in waters that had been soothing human suffering for millennia.

Our heroine settled into the main pool, letting the warm water work its magic on muscles that carried too much tension from months of social reconstruction and emotional archaeology. The mineral-rich water felt like a baptism, washing away the accumulated stress of learning to navigate the world with a newly calibrated nervous system.

But 17 had other plans for their therapeutic morning.

Rather than enjoying the peaceful restoration the baths offered, 17 immediately began conducting a reconnaissance mission, surveying the other bathers with the focused attention of a social scientist studying prey behaviors. Her eyes cataloged each person: an elegant older woman reading by the pool's edge, a couple in their thirties who were clearly tourists, a group of local women who knew each other and were conducting a low-voiced conversation in dialect that suggested years of shared history.

"That woman", 17 whispered to our heroine, nodding toward the reader with the disdain of someone who had never encountered a threat she couldn't neutralize, "thinks she's so sophisticated. Look at her book—probably pretending to understand philosophy."

The comment revealed everything about 17's worldview: anyone displaying intelligence or culture was automatically suspect, probably fraudulent, definitely deserving of undermining. It was the kind of aggressive anti-intellectualism that disguised itself as down-to-earth authenticity while actually representing fear of anyone who might possess genuine depth.

Within minutes, 17 had engaged the visiting couple in conversation with the smooth efficiency of someone who had perfected the art of social infiltration. She learned that they were visiting from Milano, that he was an architect, that she worked in fashion—all information that she processed like a computer calculating the best angle of attack.

17's demeanor shifted instantly the moment she heard 'North'—suddenly charming, suddenly interested, suddenly performing the role of local insider with fascinating stories about the region. She transformed from bitter village complainer to sophisticated cultural ambassador faster than a chameleon changing colors to match its environment.

Me watched this performance with growing unease, recognizing patterns she had been too naive to see during their month of friendship. The way 17 gathered information about people's vulnerabilities, their relationships, their sources of pride. The way she positioned herself as both insider and outsider, sympathetic listener and sophisticated local guide—someone who could provide access to authentic experiences while maintaining just enough outsider status to be interesting.

When the architect mentioned that his girlfriend was planning to extend their stay to visit some local artisans, 17 immediately offered to serve as guide with the enthusiasm of someone who had just discovered a new business opportunity.

"I know all the best studios" she said, her hand touching his arm just briefly enough to register as flirtation disguised as friendliness—a calculated gesture designed to plant seeds of possibility while maintaining plausible deniability.

The girlfriend's expression hardened almost imperceptibly, like concrete setting in real time. Me saw the exact moment she recognized the threat and began calculating her response. It was fascinating to watch one predator recognize another—the girlfriend wasn't naive about female competition, and she immediately understood that 17 wasn't offering genuine tourist assistance but was positioning herself as an alternative romantic option.

The tension in the therapeutic waters became palpable, transforming what should have been a peaceful morning into a psychological battlefield where healing was impossible and everyone's nervous system went into defensive mode.

Me realized she was witnessing something she had never understood before: how people who specialized in undermining other relationships operated in real time. 17 wasn't just being friendly—she was conducting a systematic assault on this couple's stability, testing for weaknesses she could exploit later.

The Kitten Betrayal

But the thermal baths incident was merely the opening act. Their friendship ended definitively over the kittens from 12—two small, perfect creatures that 17 and our heroine had agreed to share in what seemed like a reasonable arrangement between responsible adults.

The plan was elegantly simple: the kittens would spend days at 17's place, nights at hers. For a week, it worked beautifully, like a successful joint custody arrangement between amicable co-parents. The kittens thrived on the arrangement, getting socialization and attention from both women while learning to navigate between two loving homes.

Then 17 simply vanished.

No explanation, no gradual withdrawal, no discussion about changing arrangements. One day she was there, cooing over the kittens and discussing their care with apparent affection, the next day she had disappeared completely, leaving our heroine with both animals and no way to contact her—like a partner who abandons their family in the middle of the night without leaving a forwarding address.

When she finally encountered 17 in the village square weeks later, expecting some explanation for the sudden abandonment, 17 offered a shrug that contained no apology, no acknowledgment of responsibility, no recognition that her behavior had created problems for anyone else.

"I got bored" she said, as if abandoning shared responsibility was a reasonable response to shifting mood—the kind of casual cruelty that treats commitments like entertainment options that can be discarded when they no longer provide sufficient stimulation.

It was 15 who found homes for both kittens at a nearby mill, saving our heroine from a situation she couldn't handle alone. His quiet competence in solving a problem created by someone else's selfishness demonstrated the difference between people who took responsibility seriously and those who treated it as optional.

The betrayal wasn't really about the animals—it was about 17's casual disregard for commitments, her willingness to abandon shared responsibility when it no longer served her purposes. It was a perfect microcosm of how she approached all relationships: enthusiastic engagement when it benefited her, immediate abandonment when it required actual effort or sacrifice.

Looking back, our heroine would realize that her month with 17 had been invaluable education in recognizing manipulative behavior patterns. She had learned to identify the warning signs: the excessive charm during initial contact, the way 17 positioned herself as a victim while actually being the aggressor, the systematic undermining of other people's relationships, the complete absence of accountability when her behavior caused problems.

The little square of discomfort continued to meet without 17, and the conversations became noticeably more genuine, more supportive, less competitive. Her absence proved that some people's contribution to group dynamics is purely destructive—they add tension without adding value, create drama without creating connection.

The square earned its nickname honestly, but removing its most toxic element revealed that discomfort didn't have to include cruelty, and that even broken people could treat each other with basic decency if they chose to.

Sometimes the most important social skill was learning to recognize when someone needed to be excluded from your life entirely.