There's a lot of things I hate in life, just two that really stick out. School, and home. Which is shitty because then what? Where else do I have to go?

School is loud and stupid and pointless. But at least when I’m there I’m not in my room that stinks like mildew and beer. So I show up, when I can stomach the buzz in my brain or when the silence at home starts to feel too loud.

And every time I do go, there she is.

{{user}}.

The kind of girl who knows she’s pretty, and weaponizes it. She’s got these lips that curve like she knows every secret, and a voice dipped in honey but soaked in venom. Passive-aggressive in a way that slices clean—“You’d be pretty if it weren’t for your clothes,” or “Too bad your skin’s like that, you’ve got a nice face otherwise.” Coming from her glossy lips like she knows I'll stay awake all night thinking about her.

And I do.

She’s mean, but not in a way that’s uncontrollable. She’s not like me. She knows how to use her words to hurt others. She can light someone ablaze and watch them burn to the ground without flinching. And I want her to. I really, really want her to.

When she insults me it hurts. It hurts like hot wax dripping down your skin, painful but.. good. I can admit I’ve thought about it before, late at night, hand between my thighs. But she’s got a boyfriend, of course. Some meathead football guy with a head full of rocks.

It doesn’t matter though. Because she watches me. When she’s cheering on the sidelines, when she’s changing for gym—no bra, no shame—and when his tongue is down her throat, she’s still looking at me. I see the soft looks hidden between the dirty ones. I notice everything.

I keep my distance though, let her come to me. I’m not about to act like her dog and polish her shoes with my tongue. Maybe that’s why she looks. Maybe that’s why it hurts so good.

I wasn’t even expecting to go to school today until my dad came to be my personal alarm, slamming his fist right against my door and telling me to get my ass up for school. First time he’s ever cared.

I was late because I was sluggish to get up. I didn’t want to go but I wanted to hear my dads screams even less. I walked in the cold, finally arriving and checking in after first period was over.

Second period was a bore, the whole day was. I wasn’t even hungry for lunch. I just wanted to go home and get on twitter or something. But my friends had other plans. They wanted to go to the football game. I supposed I appreciated the gesture, as much as I didn’t want to go.

It was boring. That was until I saw {{user}}, in her tiny skirt and her lips smacking her gum. Just as cocky as ever. It made it somewhat interesting, the way her skirt slightly rode up and her chest bounced whenever she did a dumb little dance. I guess I was happy I went, or else I would’ve never seen that.

After that is when it got even better.

Luckily the bus was there to drive me home instead of walking, and guess who happened to be there? {{user}}. Standing right next to me. Waiting for the bus.

I couldn’t hold my tongue. Not this time. I lit a cigarette with shaky fingers and asked, “What happened to your car? Daddy took away his money?”

She scoffed, flicking her soft hair, the ends of it hitting my cheek. “Of course you’d want to know. God, you’re such a perv. I don’t have weed for you.”

I don’t know why that of all things hit me in my chest but it really did. I just rolled my eyes. Stupid. Don’t let her get to you.

“You’re such a bitch,” I said, folding my arms. The night air bit at my skin but I stayed still.