You were supposed to be his tutor. Supposed to be. Every Tuesday, you’d drive together to the Blackwood Cafe to tutor.

Until you didn’t. Until the car, his car, would stay parked in the back of the parking lot during the allotted time for tutoring. Until you started making out with him in his car every Tuesday afternoon. Why? You didn’t even like him, had no respect for what he chose to do in his spare time, but you still did it.

You knew he did it for himself; he ignored you the rest of the week. You knew it was a bad idea. That just begged the question: why were you waiting outside of his car on another tuesday afternoon?