Attack.

Eric shouldn't have come. He should have just stayed home as he would any other night. He should have stayed home and talked to Andreas for three hours instead.

In the beginning, it was okay. The music sucked, except for that one song he refused to admit he liked. Björn wasn't there, neither was Andreas, but it was okay. The others were there. If they hadn't been, he would've gone home before he went in.

One of the girls was being a bitch, telling him off for little things because her boyfriend was there. Eric bitched back and apologized for not having his tongue down someone else's throat.

When one of the girls was crying, he asked what was wrong and got his head bitten off. So he walked out, found Micke, and sat down with him. Micke was cool, he knew about some of Eric's bullshit.

Then she showed up, asked about the girl who'd been crying. Eric told her the truth - she was still inside.

"I'm going to punch her in the fucking face!"

Eric felt his stomach pang and his mouth ached to scream what he was thinking, but he didn't say a word. Micke sat there, stunned.

Why do you want to punch her? Your boyfriend sticking his tongue down her throat too?

Eric waited, sat against the wall with his mind in overdrive. He waited five minutes before pulling Micke to his feet, heading back inside to see if everything was okay.

She was talking to the other girl, calm as still water. Then, she hugged her. As if they were friends. As if none of the last six minutes had ever occurred.

Eric's stomach went insane. He could feel it starting. He grabbed Micke's hand and pulled him back outside into the hall and into the change rooms where he half-collapsed on the bench.

He was shaking and an icy sweat was breaking out. There was that sick, nauseous feeling in his stomach that would linger for a long time later. His head started pounding, his thoughts becoming blurs of nonsense.

He focused on breathing, keeping it as slow as he could. Micke sat beside him, trying to do something.

They sat in there for what felt like hours as Eric got over the worst of it. Micke started talking about his own troubles and Eric listened, the other boy's words giving him something to focus on even though they barely registered.

Eric and Micke stood from the bench, the latter pulling off his glasses, wiping tears from his eyes.

They sat back in the hall where they'd been before, Micke still talking and Eric silent except for single word replies to prove he was listening, however little that may be.

Then she came past and asked Micke what was wrong.

Eric didn't bite his tongue this time.

"You know what, Cami? Just fuck off, okay! We don't need more of your bullshit. Yeah, you're so going to punch her in the fucking face. You were hugging her, damnit! We're not in the fucking mood. Part of this, at least from my end, is because of you."

She yelled. She screamed. Nobody looked twice.

Two minutes later she was in the center of a circle of admirers, flitting about with her perfect little scumbag of a boyfriend.

Micke muttered something about her being a two-faces bitch, and Eric agreed. For the first time, he didn't defend her.

He fucking hated the monster that girl pretended she was. Hated it with every fiber of his being. He wanted to see it dead, bleeding from bullet holes and stab wounds. And he wanted to see that fucking boyfriend of hers in the same state. And that man she never mentioned, the one who hurt her when she was little. Eric wanted them all fucking dead and bleeding. And he wanted to do it.

Eric made it through the last hours, sipping at a can of coke, barely speaking.

He got home and crawled into bed, wrapping his blankets around himself and clutching a pillow.

He listened to a band he hadn't listened to in three years. And he cried, because he still loved that girl so fucking much.