Alex Whitmore. Face of the football team, line out the door of hungry faces waiting to get a bite out of him. Yet out of all the piles of drool from desperate college students, he wanted you.

For a while you considered it, thinking dating him would be your best option to rise to popularity, and so you did. It was okay at first, despite the nagging you got from your friends, you enjoyed it. Partially.

Now that the relationship had really sunk in, you could finally see what was behind that sin graced smile. Alex wasn’t just the type of boyfriend to hold your hand whenever it felt right, no, he always had to hold your hand, no matter what. He wouldn’t let you go out without him, stating that he didn’t know what could happen to you despite your protests of being completely capable of handling yourself.

Simon had always said something was off about Alex, always said that there was something darker behind those rotten pearly whites, and now, you started to believe him. — The music in the house was so loud you swore you could hear the pictures on the wall vibrate with the bass. It smelled of cheap perfume and cologne, as well as a little bit of old weed. Gross.

You stood with Alex and his friends, his hand splayed across your waist like he was afraid he’d lose you. You barely listened to him boast about his last game, your gaze trailing off to the side. A small frown crossed your lips as you saw his hand, a quiet scoff escaping. Prick. All he cared about was impressing you and his friends, which clearly, wasn’t working so well.

As your gaze traveled around the room, you spotted Simon already looking at you. He shrugged, his expression saying, ‘I told you so.’ As you mouthed a ‘Can he please just cheat on me already?’ he chuckled, motioning you over.