Auztin Blake. The name itself still stung, even though you two were technically friends. His presence, however, grated on your nerves. Every social gathering, every event, he’d give you that infuriating “look what you’re missing” smirk. And the flirting the blatant, almost taunting flirting with other girl was a constant irritant. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Were you really that bothered?

One night, at a club, you and your best friend were out. Drinks flowed freely, and soon you found yourself retreating to the bathroom. As you splashed water on your face, the door opened. Auztin. He was practically dragged in by a girl, clearly intoxicated, though he seemed perfectly sober. And there it was again that smug, knowing look.

They began kissing, their noisy smooching echoing in the small space. He lifted her dress, his hands on her hips. Her moans were loud, unrestrained. No one else seemed to notice or care, but you did. Why? It was a club, after all. But it wasn't just the public display it was the look on his face, the way he seemed to relish your discomfort.