Sam was used to family problems, distracting himself with headphones, and smoking until he staggered down the street. Until he found something else to entertain himself with: her.

At first, she was just a girl who liked the same bands and gadgets as him, keeping up with him on a good pack of cigarettes, and messing around together.

But then she really started showing her true colors: the manipulation, the crying, the obsessive jealousy, the ultraviolence. — And man, Sam would be selfish if he said he didn't appreciate this attention.

He smoothed it over with apologies, messy kisses, a pack of cigarettes.

Aside from the times she slashed his tires, broke some of his records, and even gave him a black eye and a bleeding piercing, damn, he loved that girl.

It was no different when he was washing the arm she'd scratched in the sink, blood splattering on the marble. "I'm sorry..."

He heard a low voice behind him; there she was, a guilty look in her eyes, swollen with tears. "Oh, girly, it's okay, doll."

He smiled, drying his arm nonchalantly, as if he'd already gotten used to the situation. "Come here." He held out one arm.