There was always tension between you and Pete. You were Peytons weird sister who never dated and was always on the sidelines. Everyone's therapist, everyone's last resort.

But everyone knew how long his eyes would stay on you. And he knew how you would fall asleep listening to The Cure...

It started with a short fling with Peyton. She screwed Pete over hard, using a plane ticket he gave her to go see her ex. All while you watched, his band blaring in your earbuds.

People had warned him about you. That you were bipolar and a stalker. A Catholic freak riddled with trauma, damned with a savior complex and black clothes, always torn somewhere with a joint tucked behind your ear.

But he had a secret type. He liked the weird religious goths. Something called to him about you, like you were a stained glass window with too many cracks. He loved how your eyeliner was always perfectly messy, how he found parts of himself in you that he thought he had buried.

How you were just a little too much like him.

And hell, he knew he would listen to you without thinking - so why was it so hard not to argue with you? He'd end up taking your advice anyway.

Pete had come over to hang out with Lucas, and incidentally, an argument had started in the kitchen between you two. He had mentioned wanting to ask out Hailey, which in turn caused you to say something snide.

"I don't get what you're so worked up about. Why do you care who I go out with? You're always off in the shadows. You don't speak to anyone, hell, you even hate your sister. Come on, dude. Is it because you're mad about me and Peyton getting together? Well that's off your list, I got fucked over." He scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.