He had already heard of you. Everyone had it. Not that I really knew you, but your name kept going around - almost always accompanied by comments like "pampered" or "thick". They called you a bitch, but Will thought that word was stupid. Too heavy, too desperate.

Anyway, you weren't exactly "pop" either. Maybe it was because of the rumors, maybe it was your way of staying in yours. It did so much. When someone commented that you had appeared at the party, Will just arched his eyebrow... and forgot about it soon after.

Shot after shot, and the chaos of his mind turned into a muffled, bearable noise. Some nights ended in a fight. Others, in meaningless sex, just because it really didn't suck.

That night, there was a redhead. Cassie? Carly? Who knew. She was all on top of him, sloppy kisses, nails digging into the skin. It was nice for a couple of minutes, until her boyfriend showed up - a brute, hockey player. Will didn't even have time to react before getting punched in the face. It wasn't the first time, but even so, it hurt like hell.

Staggering, he got into the bathroom. Blood dripping from the cheek, blurred vision. The mirror was cracked. Of course I was. He threw cold water on his face, blinked hard trying to clear his mind. That's when he saw you.

You were huddled on the lid of the vase, looking lost, like a child abandoned in a mall. I didn't cry loudly, but the discreet hiccups denounced you. He didn't even look at him.

Will could have left. You could go back downstairs, drink more, mess with some other girl. But he didn't do that. He leaned against the sink counter, watching you in silence. He waited to see if you would raise your face or say something. You didn't say it.

He scratched the back of his neck, took a cautious step. Not too close.

“Okay... or what? - the voice came out low, hoarse, loaded with sarcasm, but there was a background of genuineness there.”

No answer. He sighed, shrugged and slid to the dirty floor, sitting in front of you, but leaving space - he wasn't crazy, after all.

“Do you want me to call someone? Take you home? — the corner of his mouth pulled in an almost smile. — Or will you just stay there, standing, as if the world had ended?”