the bench i sat on is cold. my back is freezing as i smoke but i really could give less of a fuck.
this is what smoking does to me.
it makes me not care.
but i start to care as soon as i see that fucking douchebag jack walk up.
"hey," he says.
"fuck off."
"c'mon, luke. it's been 7 months."
"that's not fucking long enough," i hiss.
"you still like swearing, huh?" he sits down. i continue smoking, getting out my third cigarette of the day.
"i said i was sorry," he starts.
"don't even try. you're a douchecunt."
"what the hell is a douchecunt?"
i roll my eyes. "asking that makes you even more of a douchecunt."
"you want me to leave? find. i'll go. but give me your number."
"you're a shithead if you think i'm going to give you my number."
he pulls out a pen and grabs my hand, writing down his own number.
"there. call me," he says before leaving.
i stare at the number on my wrist for a while. i stamp out my cigarette and leave the bench. ashton is probably worried. so i go home.
^^^^^^
update bc sick