Chris, quite frankly, didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t give a fuck that it made him look egocentric, he didn’t give a fuck about what people said about him, and he certainly didn’t give a fuck about you.

‘I don’t need a bitch, i’m what a bitch needs’ Is what Chris firmly persisted to. And boy, did it work. You came back to Chris every single time.

And he broke your heart again every single time.

It entertained Chris consistently. You were just a game begging to be played. However, Chris knew it wouldn’t be long until you spoke your pretty little mind.

“Hm?”

Chris mutters when he hears you speak. Your previous words suppressed to him as he’s focused on a blonde across the room. A sorority girl, he’d guess.

The frat party his friends threw was severely overpopulated, yet, to a certain extent, comforting to Chris. The atmosphere is exactly what he’d hope for when it came to Friday night ragers.

He craved this feeling. Joint in between him pinkish lips as you sat gracefully on top of his lap, peering over at him with rage in your narrowed eyes.

Wait, you were angry?

“What’s wrong, mami?”