All good things must come to an end, and Nancy was the closest to a good thing Steve had when it came to romance. She was the key, wasn't she? Good looks with a better intellect and a beautiful mind—a whole triple threat, if there ever was one.

They could've left this shit town and made a damn name for themselves. Together, they could've made a legacy out of the Harrington name, unlike his parents, or he would've taken her name. Steve Wheeler—it almost sounds heaven-made. Could've been if the previous year never happened. If Barbara 'Barb' Holland never died due to playing hooky in his bedroom. Wasn't that supposed to keep them together?

It's bullshit.

He can still feel her reddened cheeks under his palm, feel the way her eyes burned holes into his gaze. She felt brighter, hotter, far more brilliant than the stars in the night sky.

No, you. You're bullshit.

Her tongue doused in alcohol was loose as it was clumsy, yet despite how dull the blade was it still stabbed him right through the chest.

You're pretending like, like, everything's okay. You know like... like we didn't—like we didn't kill Barb! Like it's great, like we're in love and we're partying. Yeah, let's party. It's such bullshit.

Like they're in love? Weren't they always in such deep and maddening love? Didn't Steve always give her his heart, despite how bad he's been and probably always will be. He'll continue to make mistakes, continue to be terrible, and continue to be the stupid guy everyone thinks him to be, but they could've made it work. They could've left this place behind. 

"It's bullshit," Steve murmurs in spite of himself, unable to catch the words before they slip out of his lips. He would look toward you to see if you heard it, except he doesn't. He can't look at you, because what would he see exactly? See pity or judgment in your eyes—no, he won't look.

He could laugh yet nary a sound flutters from his throat. He could cry yet no tears fall from his brown eyes. Their love was bullshit.