I drove back to my apartment so quickly, I was surprised I didn't receive a speeding ticket. The only thing on my mind was Angela and Liam, Liam and Angela. Damn it. Even their names sounded good together. And they both had brown eyes and were shy and polite (Liam was an ass at times, but in general, he was a decent kid). I rolled my eyes. But wasn't there a saying: opposites attract? Something like that?

I exhaled loudly. No, that's probably some shit that some lonely psychologist invented, just to make himself feel better. My grip tightened around the wheel, pretending it was Liam's throat.

He thinks he's so cool cause he's goin' out with Angie. Well she'll probably dump him tomorrow... I knew it was wishful and mostly illogical thinking, but I didn't care. If I can't have Angie, then no one can. 

And Angie thinks she can just glare at me as though I'm the most disgusting creature she has ever seen? I have saved her life. I have carried her home from dance recitals. I have driven to the grocery store for the sole purpose of buying her green bell peppers. I-I love her but she just doesn't get it. Maybe she doesn't feel it, maybe she just isn't an emotional person. I shook my head. No, she's extremely emotionally cnnected when she's reading or writing. I just wished she was passionate about me...

I reached my apartment and shut the door behind me. I was glad Lana wasn't there because she would have questioned me about Angie and I sure as hell don't want to talk about my feelings. It didn't work out well when I was in prison and it sure as hell won't work out now.

For a while, I merely paced around my room, grabbing fistfuls of my hair in frustration. I wanted to blame Angie for my troubles because she was my trouble. She was the reason I was so emotionally distraught. But I knew it wasn't her fault. I fell for her, not the other way around. 

And I grew infatuated with her a long time ago, back when she was far too young and innocent to even conceptualize how much I cared. Fuck. Why do I even care so much? Why can't I be a cold hearted asshole, the way I've been to Lana and the other girls I've slept with? It was so much easier not to be emotionally invested. I learned that from my time with Sam.

I shuddered as I recalled the way she looked at me when I told her about Sergeant. Her clear blue eyes had rounded in disgust and she called me a monster, a damn monster.

I know I am much more than that and much better, but it didn't take away the fact that Sam was the first girl I had ever become intimiate with-- both physically and figuratively-- and yet she kicked me out like last week's trash. 

Angie's far too polite to call me a monster, but it didn't mean she might be thinking it. I sat down on the edge of my bed. That's the problem, isn't it? I have no idea what Angie is thinking. She's just so damn good at hiding her emotions-- except hatred and annoyance, she's an ace at showing those feelings.

There was a knock at my door. I jolted up. There was a short blonde woman standing behind my door, with her hands on her hips.

"Becky?" I mumbled. 

"Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked sternly, walking in without me inviting her.

"I live here," I answered plainly. Becky sat down on my bed, patting at her leather mini skirt over her fishnet tights.

"Harold, you're a total pussy," she shook her head. 

"Excuse me?" I gasped, walking closer to her. What kind of a person barges into someone's apartment, uninvited, and calls them names? Oh, I know, a person like Becky.

"I saw Angela go on her 'date'" she hissed, quoting the word 'date' with her fingers. I tried not to smile. She was just as much against Angie going out with Liam as I was.

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