You should have seen it coming. That was the worst part, you knew better. Russell was magnetic, charming, the kind of man who could make a joke out of your anger and kiss the fight right out of your mouth. But you thought maybe, just maybe, it’d be different. Turns out, it wasn’t. “I don’t get you,” you said, arms crossed, pacing your apartment. “Two nights ago you were telling me you needed me. That you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. And now you vanish? Now you can’t even look me in the eye?” Russell leaned back on your couch, smirk just sharp enough to cut. “You’re overreacting.” Your chest burned. “Don’t you dare call this overreacting.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I like you. A lot. But you gotta admit, sometimes you make it hard. You want too much.” “Too much?” You laughed, the sound brittle. “I asked for honesty. For effort. You think that’s too much?” He opened his mouth, probably to charm his way out of it like always, but you didn’t give him the chance. “God, you’re pathetic. You’ll sit here with your Miller Lite, talking about how women are too stressful, how guys have it easier. And you know what? Maybe you deserve exactly what’s coming for you.” “Which is what?” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “A lifetime of never getting laid.” He blinked, thrown off for the first time. “I hope you rot in your stupid apartment with your beer and your boys and your porn. I hope you get so comfortable with your own hand that no one else will ever do. I hope your future is just you and your couch and a big fat nothing.” For once, Russell didn’t have a clever reply. His smirk faltered, lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. You grabbed your coat, tossing it over your arm. “Enjoy your forever of never getting laid, Russell. You’ve earned it.”