Getting over the breakup had been hard, to say the least. Harder, when you take into account the fact that you weren't actually over it at all. Not even a little bit.

The coping, though, had been difficult at best. A wide range of emotions had crashed over you in the weeks following. Those weeks turned into months, why did her goddamn face have to be all over the school? She plays tennis, she's not the fucking president.

Seeing her was the worst. You would get confused, ditzy almost, like she was still inside scrambling your brains around. You think you saw her on Halloween. Maybe that's why you spilt beer into Art's lap. You weren't sure.

Maybe that was in the month you thought they had gotten together. After a while, all that time blended together. You used to say you'd never let yourself get all stupid over a girl. But then again, you hadn't met Tashi Duncan yet.

Sometimes you wondered if she still thought about you too. You tried not to. It was bad for your head, for your heart. Worse if you let yourself imagine her worrying about you.

But fuck, you worried about her. Not that she ever warranted worry, but you had it anyway. She was always the strong one. So you told yourself you weren't worried, despite the way you'd have to remind yourself to relax your forehead sometimes.

You did not worry about Tashi Duncan. That is, not until you saw her again. This time at a different party. There she was, perfect, perched on the kitchen counter of whoever the fuck's house this was, obviously bored out of her mind in the conversation she was having.

Some frat douche, his hand slowly inching closer to her on the countertop. Shit. You had to do something, right? Right?