Status: In the works right now, heh. btdubbs be a dear and tell me if I'm wasting my time updating this crap story. thnx.

Fancy Pants

Fancy Pants Ch. Sixteen also I'm sorry don't send me death threats

From: NO
To: Me
can I borrow your lit book? i
left mine in my locker.

I stared down at my phone with a blank face, then blinked to the right at my Literary text book, laying out on my desk. I thought about telling Gracie I didn’t have it with me either, but when I clicked reply, I typed out something else instead.

From: Me
To: NO
Yeah, I guess. How did you plan on
getting it from me? I’m not
walking to your house.

Gracie replied seconds later.

From: NO
To: Me
you still live by cvs right? I’m
there now. I can stop by.

My fingers hovered over the reply button. I didn’t want her in my house, but this was way easier than me trekking to hers.

From: Me
To: NO

After a ten minute wait, I watched a shadow pass by my window. I hoped it was Natalie, and kept my finger crossed as they knocked on the front door. Instead of getting up right away, I stared out my door, thinking maybe if I didn’t answer it, they’d leave, but my wonderful mother didn’t let that even get the chance to bud.

Gracie - I’m assuming it was her - got three knocks in before my mother pulled open the door and greeted her in an overly pleasant/surprised tone.

“Oh - uh, Grace, is it? Are you here to see Dodger?”

Gracie replied quietly, so I didn’t hear what she said back to my mom. My mom said to her, “Oh, alright, well, I’ll go get him -” There was another brief pause as I heard Gracie murmur to her.

God damn, girl. Speak up.

“Oh,” my mom said. “Okay. Go ahead.”

oh god. what.

I started to get up but stopped at the sound of a knock hitting my door. Seeing Grace push it open a bit, I said, “…hi.”

A small smile came to her face. “Hey.”

I got up to grab my Lit book from the table. “Here.” I handed it to her, and she reached for it, but once it was in her grasp, she didn’t say thanks.

“Actually, would you mind if I just copied down the questions?” she asked, pointing to the book. “I have a paper back copy of Catcher at home.”

“Uh,” I glanced up at the ceiling and shrugged, wanting to reject her. “Yeah, sure.” I plopped back down onto my bed, gesturing to my desk. “You can sit there.”

Her eyes narrowed at me playfully. “Oh, so you get the comfy bed and I get the wooden desk and chair?” She raised her brow at me. I picked up a pillow from beside me and threw it at her.

I smirked. “There.”

She caught it, shaking her head at me. “You suck.” Perhaps so, but she pulled out the swivel chair and sat down. I sent another shrug her way, and turned my attention to my TV. Flipping open to some page, she stopped to turn to me.

“Do you have any notebook paper?”

I grunted at her, feigning annoyance. “Maybe.”

Her smile was back. “Can I have some?”

Again, I grunted at her. “Maybe,” I repeated. She scrunched her nose at me but popped a toothy grin.


“Godddddddddddddddd,” I groaned, but reached down to my bookbag, which sat right next to my bed. She muttered a thank you as I pulled out a notebook. I flicked it open to rip out a sheet of paper, heh, ‘accidentally’ ripping it in half. I shut my notebook, dropping it onto the ground.

I sat up to smile hugely at her dropped jaw, holding the paper out for her.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” I asked, playing dumb. Not seeing her make an attempt at grabbing the paper from me, I got closer to put it on the desk in front of her. Her eyes followed and she smirked.

“You did. You ripped that in half on purpose - you asshole. I demand a new one.”

I just smiled smugly and then said ‘innocently’, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I think maybe, uh, you should lay off the weed – it’s messing with your brain,” I said, wiggling my fingers in her face.

Her eyes narrowed again, and she grabbed my hands, but – of course – instead of letting them go right away, she held them. I didn’t really know what to do. I just sat there staring at her – like a deer in the headlights.

Then I saw her eyes dart to my mouth.

I yanked my hands away, and cleared my throat. Her smile vanished.

“I already put my notebook away,” I pointed out. “Deal with it.”

She took a second, but her smile returned. “Well, fine. I’ll re-write them later - do you have a pencil?” I nodded, going for my bedside table to retrieve a mechanical pencil from it. I quickly handed it to her, not giving her the chance to make the situation awkward again.

She thanked me, and spun back to face the lit book, picking the ripped sheet of paper up to straighten it out.

I left her for the TV once more until several minutes passed and she got my attention back.

“Is that your phone?”

I looked to her to see she was pointing at what appeared to be my iPod. It rested next to a can of Pringles sitting on my desk. I shook my head at her, looking at the TV again.

“Close - iPod.”

“Oh,” her lips pursed. “It’s nice,” she added.



I suddenly had a fear she would think, for some reason, she could unlock it and go through it.

“Can you hand it to me?” I asked abruptly.

“Yeah, sure.” She gripped it, so I sat up to claim it. Inches away, she got a big grin on her face, and she yanked it away from me.

I raised my brows at her. “Uh…?”

Her grin turned into a smirk. “If you want it,” she began deviously, “come get it.”

I stared at her. I pushed out a laugh. “Or you could cooperate and give it to me.”

She shook her head, holding my iPod so it was right in my view.

“Nah. I don’t want to move,” she beamed.

“Then throw it at me,” I suggested, having a feeling I knew what she was up to. Again, her head shook from side to side, a manipulative smile on her face.

She challenged, “Come get it.”

This time, I shook my head at her, irritated, but started sitting up anyway. “Fine,” I sighed in frustration, stopping a few feet in front of her. I held my hand out for my iPod only to get her to pull it to her chest.


Her smirk grew bigger.

“What?” she asked innocently, her voice going up several octaves. Slowly moving her other hand up her chest, she pulled the neck of her shirt down, revealing her bra. She took my iPod and pushed it right in between her breasts.

“It’s right here,” she said, fiddling with the stretchy material of her tank top.

Grace. Give it to me.”

“Take it from me,” she shot back. I eyed her chest, but wasn’t too sure it was my iPod I was looking at.

I had to make myself shake my head.

“No. I’m not fucking around. Give it to me. Now.” We met eyes and held a staring contest. Her face dropped into one of defeat as I narrowed my eyes at her. A sigh fell from her mouth.

“Fine.” She went for my iPod, taking it from her shirt. I started to thank her sarcastically, reaching for it, but of course, centimeters away, she tore it back, another giant smirk took up her face.

I watched her arch her back and slip my iPod down the front of her jean shorts.






“Would you stop being ridiculous?” I snapped at her. “I’m being serious - stop and just give it back to me.”

“Why would I stop?” she smirked. “I know how badly you want to get in my pants and take it back yourself. Go on - reach your hand down my underwear and grab it.”

I let her know that “If I ever get it back from you, I’m beating you upside the head with it.”

Her smile glowed. “I’d rather you beat something else of mine.” Oh, wow. I wanted to applaud her for that witty response but glared at her instead.

She went on, “Am I making you mad?”

“Pissed, actually.”

Her teeth showed as she said, “Take it out on me.”

My glare darkened.

“You seemed to have forgotten that I have a girlfriend at the moment. I’m not going to fuck up what we have for you, of all people.”

She let a short laugh ring out as she pointed her nose to the ceiling. “Oh, like you’re happy with her - ”

Dumbfounded, I cut her off. “You have absolutely no idea how much she means to me, so don’t even try to go yapping your big mouth around as if you do.”

“What’s that goody-two-shoes have that I can’t give you?” she scoffed. “She’s a prude; you’re getting nothing out of dating her. You’re just wasting your time.”

“Have you ever stopped to think sex isn’t a necessity in a relationship? Did you ever consider that I like her for her, and don’t care if we have sex? It doesn’t change how I feel about her.”

She snorted. “You’re lying to yourself -“

“No - you’re pathetic. God,” I said exasperated. “I can’t believe I ever tried to stand up for you. You are a slut.”

Any trace of humor left her face and she frowned. “I’m not a slut,” she whispered.

“No? What else do you call someone who would do something like this? Why would I even consider doing absolutely anything with you? Especially when I have a girlfriend, who I love very, very much. You are such an idiot.”

Somehow her frown deepened even more than it already was.

“I’m not a slut,” she whispered again. Her big eyes started to glass over. I didn’t care if I was hurting her feelings. She’s so aggravating. I backed away, going for my door, pulling it open.

“Just leave - now.”

She continued to stare at me in disbelief, but shook her head, muttering something to herself. She quickly blinked a few times.

“Fine,” she said aloud, standing. She stuck her hand down the front of her shorts, pulling out my iPod. She tossed it onto my bed, looking right at me the entire time. Not even bothering to grab the ripped piece of notebook paper from the open book, she made her way to the door.

Seconds away from walking through it, she stopped to spat, “You’re missing out.”

I looked at her with a straight face. “Does it look like I give a fuck?”

She rolled her eyes at me, saying, “Whatever.”


Another dark look was shot before she grumbled something else, stomping out into the hallway. I waited until I heard her slam the screen door behind her before I slammed my own.

Can you believe her?

Absolutely ridiculous.


Everything in the entire world has been pissing me off lately. Oh god. It’s crazy, really. I think it’s mix of stupid David and all the shit he’s been stirring up; that fuck Brandon keeps popping over to say ‘hi’ and to ask if Emma’s here; and then what happened with Gracie.

Fuck. Even thinking about those three dips is making me angry.

Sitting at my desk, I grabbed my wooden pencil to distract myself, but ended up snapping it in half.

Whoops. I quickly dropped it back down onto the desk. Emma had turned her head to me when she heard the thin piece of wood break. She raised her brow at it, then me. A short laugh.

“Are you fine?” she whispered to me.

I felt a sudden twinge of anger go through me. Not knowing what it was aimed at, I ignored it, trying to answer her back calmly.

“I’m fine,” but the tone of my voice made her shake her head. Another stab of anger.

“Really?” she pressed. I became annoyed again. I had the urge to hit her. That urge scared the crap out of me. I quickly looked at her face, relaxing almost instantly. She has such an innocent, soothing face.

“Really,” I assured in a more convincing tone. “Just grouchy.”

She didn’t seem to believe me, but pushed out a small smile, reaching for my hand. She gave it a soft squeeze.


At the end of class, Mr. Davis told us to hand in our essays we’ve been working on for who knows how long.

About time, god damn.

His inability to set a finalized due date for this dumb paper made me angry, too.

God. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Unfortunately, whatever is up my butt decided to stick around when Emma came over to hang out after school. We were sitting in my room, playing on my PlayStation – Call of Duty, you know the one with zombies.

And she’s really bad at it. She’s always dying; most likely because she cowers in fear behind me when a zombie starts charging at her, and winds up running into a wall, shooting at it. And after I would come over to ‘revive’ her, she’d just end up getting attacked by a zombie again, and sometimes, I’d die, because she wasn’t guarding both windows, and when she went over to revive me – she’d forget how to and end up dying again.

It was cute at first, but after about eight tries of actually playing, Emma dying each time, I got so unnaturally fed up. I grabbed both of our controllers and threw them down, shutting it off.

We sat there for a bit, and then tried playing this…sports game – I don’t remember what it was called, but she was considerably better at it.

I’d always play volleyball and she’d always play this Frisbee game. We did rock, paper, scissor on who would go first. She won two out of three times. I clicked on the Frisbee icon, and she stood up to play, and after going through the tutorial several times, she still managed to throw the Frisbee wrong. I tried to help her do it better, but no success.

She tried angling herself more at an angle and I just mimicked a ‘wrong answer buzzer’ and said, “Wrong. Turn more towards me.” She did, and extended her arm out, throwing the Frisbee. It was doing pretty good, going pretty far, but then a tree popped out of nowhere, and the Frisbee bounced off it, landing in the river.

“Oh - my - GOD,” I couldn’t help but snap. She told me I could go ahead and play volleyball, so I did, and she just sat on my bed.

I’m pretty beast at volleyball, btw. Emma sucks ass. But that didn’t stop me from asking her to try to play anyway. Maybe seeing her fail on my say-so would make me feel better. I knew deep down that wouldn’t be the case, because she doesn’t have the slightest idea as to what she’s doing or what she was supposed to be doing – and every time the volleyball came her way and she’d jump up to spike it, she’d always somehow miss.

“Dodgerrrrrrrr,” she whined, turning around to me. She pointed to the screen, and made as many body gestures as she could to show that she had no fucking idea what she was doing.
“I have no idea…what in the world…I am doing.”

I just did that twirling of the finger thing, basically telling her to turn around and try again. And she did, but this time she had to serve the ball over the net.

She flat out failed the first two times.

“Third times the charm,” I said through clenched teeth. My little plot to make myself feel better was not going as planned at all. I could feel myself getting more and more mad at her. But what do you know, third time really was the charm. She cheered giddily when the ball actually went over the net. The player on the other side of the net hit it back over. Her teammate got it, and then hit it over to her….she missed.

“GOD. DARNNIT,” she grunted. “Dodger, I am never playing this again. You can’t make me,” she said, falling down on the bed beside me.

“Oh, come onnnnn. You were actually doing good,” I lied. “Come on. Get uuuupppp.” I poked her sides until she got up.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered, standing again. “But can I at least play a different game?” I nodded, and she chose Bogo, I think? I dunno. Going through the tutorial, she began a conversation.

“Are you ever telling me why David is a meanie? Why he put a camera in your room?”

That same jolt of anger I’ve been feeling all day pulsed through me again, stronger this time. He was the last person I ever wanted to talk about again.

I brushed that feeling off to answer her with a shrug.

“Probably not.”

Her laugh came out loudly before she pushed a tiny pout at me. “Oh, why not?” she asked, watching her opponent – some big Hawaiian guy – throw the ball. “I deserve to know; it has personally affected me, as well as you. I can't believe he did that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I sing-songed before dropping my voice down into a slightly demonic one. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”

That made her laugh again. She scrunched up her nose and made a weird sound.

Again, she whined, “Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“But I want you to.”

I wanted to tell her why he was douche - I really did - but I didn’t want it to hurt her. Then she’d think I really did go around bragging about us doing the dirt, and then she’d be mad at me. My chest tightened at the thought of her groaning to me about something I didn’t do. But if I didn’t tell her, she’d groan to me until I told her.

I clenched my jaw. There’s no way out of this.

I still said, “I don’t care,” back at her. To hopefully shut her up, I added, “He’s just a dick, I’ve told you that. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I know you, duh.” She stuck her tongue out at me. I returned the gesture. She started to groan again. “Puh-leeeeaaasssseeeeee tell me? That is not full reason. I am not dumb.”

Yeah, you are, I thought harshly.

That exact attitude followed me out of my brain.

“No, Emma,” I said sternly. The lingering urge to hit her in fled in once more. It was so horrifying to feel that. I made my hand into a fist and felt my heart flutter.

No. Stop. Calm the fuck down.

She let it go for the next ten seconds or so, and then brought it up again.

“Dodger, tell me or-or…I’ll break up with you.”

I snorted, because I knew she wouldn’t do that - and then considered that if she didn’t break up with me, I’d get the silent treatment.

I still said, “Nah.”

“Fine then. It’s over.” But the way she said it, you knew she wasn’t being serious. She said it like a child. She even crossed her arms over her chest momentarily.

“Uh-huh. Sure it is,” I played along, feeling the ball of anger inside of me dull.

“I’m being serious.”

“So was I.”

She slanted her head back to look at me with narrowed her eyes. “It’s funny. You think I’m joking – I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah, neither am I.”

“Well, stop acting like you think I am – would you just tell me?” The anger instantly flew back in. Her phone buzzed in her bag right next to me. She selected pause and sat the controller on my desk, going for her bag.

I tried to catch a glimpse at her face, my fist balling up again, hoping once I looked at her the rage I was feeling would go away.

It didn’t.

When she retrieved her phone, turning to take a few steps back, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.

“Just fucking let it go,” I snapped at her.

She stared at me in shock. “No. I deserve to know.” She snatched her arm out of my hand, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back; I have to use restroom.”

Not even her messed up grammar was easing me like it used to. Her accent and her high pitched annoying voice was making my blood boil.

I didn’t remember getting up off the bed. Just as she yanked open the door, it got slammed shut, and she was pushed up against it. I didn’t remember doing that.

I just felt so much anger. Everything was getting hazy.

“What are you doing?” she said, trying to push me off, so she could open the door and leave. Her hands hitting my chest pissed me off and I pushed it closed again.

Her eyes widened up at me. “What is wrong with you? Stop.”

That dumb voice -

I scowled – and I was really shocked at what I did next – I hit her hard across her face. She let out a cry of shock, squeezing her eyes shut for a split second. Her jaw dropped as she sprang her eyes open. All the anger suddenly disappeared, but what I felt instead made my heart feel like it was breaking.

There was an odd sense of success.

It took me a few seconds to fully comprehend what I just did.

I hit her.

I finally felt some tears well up as I said – well, tried to say, “Em…Emma, I…God, I’m so…I-I don’t know why I…I…” But she shook her head, holding back the tears.

“N-no…it’s – it’s okay. I--…”

“Okay?” I said, like she was crazy. “I just – I just hit you…and…and you said it’s okay? It’s not okay.”

“But…but you didn’t mean to…and…I should’ve just backed off, but…”

I pulled her into a hug. “I shouldn’t have hit you,” I continued on, ignoring her. “I am so sorry. You just made me so mad - everything’s been making me so mad lately. I -”

She forced out a laugh and said, “Dodger…I’m fine – really.”

The intense feeling of guilt wouldn’t go away, and watching her try to hold back tears killed me. I couldn’t stop telling her how sorry I was. I kept telling her I loved her so much and swore up and down I’d never do it again, but I knew in the back of my mind that wouldn’t be the last time.

After a few minutes of hectic apologies, she interrupted me. “I-I really have to go to restroom.” And to show me that she wasn’t just leaving because of what I did, she cupped my face and gave me a kiss. I could tell it her hurt her jaw to do and my eyes filled up with tears again.

I pushed my forehead up against hers and said, “Okay. But I really am sorry. I love you so much; don’t think I don’t just because of that, okay?”

She forced out another laugh. “I know. You’ve said that – what – 50,000 times? I know. I love you too, okay, so stop fretin’.” She said the last part, almost like it was in hopes of getting a smile out of me, but I couldn’t give one.

I didn’t deserve to smile after what I did.

But eventually I let her out of my death grip, and she made her way out the door and into the bathroom, shutting its door quickly behind her. My heart dropped at the sound of a loud sniffle and a small whimper coming from the other side.

This is it; it’s finally happening. She’s crying because of me.

Because I hit her.

I dropped my head into my hands.

I can’t believe I hit her. What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh my god. I need to go die. I hate myself so much right now. The intense feeling of self-hate was overwhelming.

why did I do that.

I CAN’T BELIEVE I HIT HER. And she said it was okay - no. Not okay. Not at all.

I feel so bad. I wanted to jump in front of a train, have someone record it, revive me, and make me watch it, then kill me again, but reeeaallllyyy slow, so I have time to think about it and realize how much a douche I am.


She just made me so mad, and I just snapped – I guess. Maybe if she knew when to let shit go – NO. It’s not her fault; it’s mine. What that demon did is something she should know; he’s wrecking her life, too. She wants to know and I should tell her.

I smashed my face into my pillow, and kicked at my bed.

He’s who I should be taking all this anger out on; not little, innocent Emma.

But she’s just so annoying sometimes - stop. Stop blaming her.

A scary thought suddenly popped into my head. I swear if I end up like my dad and Emma like my mom – oh hell to the mothafuckin’ no – I will commit suicide, no lie.

Well…maybe a little bit of a lie.

Fuck. Why did I do that.????!!?????1!???!!

I wanted to die. She was crying in the bathroom because of me right now. I sighed loudly in shame, flinging my hands into the air. They both landed onto my desk, but while one touched a can of Pringles, the other fell on a pair of scissors.

I had a new urge - to slice my wrists open with its blade.

Without thinking, I grabbed them, pulling it down to me, turning over onto my back. I pulled my sleeve down just to look from my moderately clean forearm to the scissors. I looked at the rubber band I had gotten from the art teacher earlier today, and all the now fading red welts it left behind from me repeatedly snapping it every time a bad thought came my way.

I cursed at myself for not snapping it when I was getting fed up at Emma all day. Maybe that would’ve stopped me from making such a stupid mistake.

I looked out into the hallway at the still closed bathroom door. She’s been in there a while. Crying her eyes out. I could hear her softly choke back another sob. I feared, though, that she was going to suddenly pop back out and stop me from hurting myself.

I looked back to the scissors and parted the blades.

I just thought about everything sucky that has been happening the past few months – anything that had to do with making Emma cry instantly came to mind, so absolutely everything – and I pushed its unexpectantly dull edge against my forearm, and drug it over a few inches.

I was so disappointed when, after a couple seconds of waiting, no blood came out. All that rose up was a raised scrap. It did, however, grow redder and redder the longer I stared at it.

I went for a second go, needing to draw blood. Moving right beneath the scrap, I pushed the blade down again, harder this time, and when I felt a slight sting, I pushed down even harder, and dragged its dull edge. It didn’t hurt at first, but after a few seconds it started to tingle as a line of blood followed the blade.

That’s when I stopped.

How relived it made me worried me.

I jumped at the sound of the bathroom door being pulled open, and the light flicking off. I quickly set the scissors back on the desk and ripped my sleeve down.

Emma walked back into the room slowly, staring down at the ground.

“Should I close this?” she asked quietly, hand on the doorknob.

Knowing that wasn’t what she wanted, I shook my head. “No. You can leave it open.”

She nodded her head as I sat up to place my feet on the ground. The slight sting from under my sleeve wasn’t hated at the moment. It was even welcomed as she stifled another sniffle.

I wanted to apologize again but she pointed her thumb out my door.

“I should leave.”

I sighed. “Emma -”

Her voice rose as she said reassuringly, “Not because of what happened but because my father wants me home. He texted me.”

Having no way of knowing if she was telling the truth or not, I knew I should at least respect her wanting to leave. I wouldn’t even want to be near me after that.


I handed her her bag and followed her out of the room. My mother was out on the back porch, paying with a dog. I started towards her to tell her I was taking Emma home when a figure made my jaw clench.

Brendon was out there with her.

He’s one of the reasons I’m so pissed off right now. He’s what led up to me psychically hurting my girlfriend. I fought the compulsion to grab a steak knife from the kitchen cabinet and stab him with it. Maintaining a collected composure, I opened the screen door, getting them both to glance up at me.

“Oh, hello, honey - Brendon has a dog; isn’t she lovely? Her name’s Doodle - that’s so cute, isn’t it?”

“Adorable,” I pretended to agree. His stupid face was twisted into a homicide-provoking expression. I paid attention to my mom. I motioned to Emma standing motionless in the living room. “I’m taking Emma home.”

Dumbfuck’s mouth grew wide as he smirked. “Oh, Emma’s here? I’ll go say bye to her.”

Colossal amounts of rage fueled my glare. “You move and I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

My mother’s face filled with utter shock. “Dodger!” she scolded. “You watch your mouth. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but that is no way to talk to our guest - if he wants to tell Emma goodbye, he can.”

My glare jerked to her. “No, he fucking won’t. You want to know what’s ‘between us’?” I seethed at her. “It’s him thinking he can just walk in here and take her away from me.”

I narrowed my eyes at his smug face. “If you go near her, I’m killing you.”

My mom turned to Brendon and his smirk quickly fell. He replaced it with a look of confusion. He put his hands up in defense. “I have no idea what he’s talking about - I just like her as a friend, I swear.” I scoffed at that.

“Oh, shut the fuck up -”

There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked to see Emma. My eyes fixed on her jawline where a slight discoloration was forming. She spoke in that tiny accented voice, and this time, it didn’t make me go all deranged. It actually affected me the way it normally does; all my frustration went away.

“Uhm, let’s go,” she said, pulling at my arm. She muttered to me, “Don’t bother with him; I don’t want you upset anymore.”

She doesn’t want me upset.

My stomach turned. She sounded like she was concerned, more about my feelings than her own. She quietly said, “Come on.” I nodded at her but shot another glare to Brendon and a mixed look to my mom before following Emma as she pulled me into the dining room.

My mom said goodbye to her and I heard Brendon say the same nearly inaudibly but full of arrogance. I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling the anger return yet again, but when Emma glanced up at me, her face had its usual effect on me, and I ignored him.

We went out the front door and into my truck, sitting in silence, getting to her house within twenty minutes.

When she opened the car door, I expected her just rush out a goodbye, but she smiled softly at me and gave me a peck on the cheek.

I caught sight of her growing bruise and couldn’t smile back, so she cupped my face, saying, “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t,” I whispered.

“I should,” she corrected, “and I do.” I still couldn’t get myself to believe her. She went in for another kiss on the cheek. She sighed out, “I love you.”

It hurt me to say it back because I knew deep down she didn’t think I really did.

“I love you too.”

Her smile became more genuine as she got out of the car, closing the door. She leaned onto the open window.

“Smile,” she said.

I faked one and she accepted it.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm sorry.