(A/N:Okay…so that was kind of my own personal little rant there, sorry guys. Ever been to a third world country? Have you ever seen a little child watch their parents die? Your lives should never, ever be taken for granted the way you have them.)

Apart from my little rant, there, there are a lot of things that people really don’t know about me. I’m surprisingly into current events. I love History. I’m fluent in Spanish. I’m in four AP classes. So yeah, I’m not an idiot. Most people think I’m just a pretty face, but I’m not. I may be a little full of myself, too, but hell, I’m a teenager. I’m allowed to do that shit.

So yeah, back to lunch.

Spencer Carlin is conveniently absent today. I don’t blame her, though. I know she’s probably afraid of me, afraid of the things I can say or do. I just have this unnerving impulse to go and find her and comfort her; to tell her that I would never hurt her and always take care of her. But I can’t. I don’t know where she is, and I’m sure as hell not going to ask her annoying friends where she is. They wouldn’t tell me anyways.

Shit. There’s the bell.

I hate my afternoon classes. AP Statistics and AP US History. Honestly? The two hardest classes offered at King, back to back. I think they just set me up to watch me fail.

It’s a new semester, starting today, so it’s the first day of both classes. Roll is called, new and old friends are reunited, and of course, I’m alone. I’m always alone.

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It’s hard for me to get through my classes, but when I do, I race out of school and rip home. I probably drive 90 mph on the way home, but I don’t care. Fuck da police. Okay, yes, I really said that.

The only thing I want to do is go home and flop on my bed and sleep for fifteen hours at a time. I don’t care about my homework today. My entire world has been turned upside down just because I didn’t see Spencer today. That’s crazy. I know she’s afraid of me and I don’t like that feeling.

I’m rushing into my house, or really, it’s a mansion, so quickly that I don’t even stop to notice the breathtaking blonde sitting on my front porch.

The key is in the lock by the time I realize who I’ve walked by.

“Spencer?”

“Ashley. We need to talk.”

Ha. Like hell we do.

“Oh no! Are you breaking up with me? How about you just use the rejection hotline?”

“I’m sorry. Please, Ashley, I’m so sorry. Just…can we talk? That’s a-all I want. Please.”

She’s crying now. Shit. I didn’t mean to just come off like an ass like that. Shit shit shit fuck. Shitty fuck shit.

“Sure. Come on in.” I speak brusquely. I want to be nice. I have to be nice. But the cold, hard person that is me cannot be nice. That’s how I’ve been socialized. That’s now a part of who I am. But Spencer deserves my being nice. I cannot treat her badly. The last thing I want is to hurt her.

She looks up at me with tears still brimming in her eyes as I push open the door and follow her inside. I motion with an outstretched arm to the family room with our sofa and a couple chairs. She picks a chair, of course, not wanting to sit by me on the sofa. I don’t really blame her. I pick the couch and sit closest to her chair, fighting the urge to kiss her tears away. I feel trapped. I want to comfort her and be there for her, but I can’t give away the fact that I love her and care about her. She starts to open her mouth to say something, but can’t. I can see it in her eyes. She wants to get her emotions out but doesn’t want to say the wrong thing to make me angry, I know the feeling.

“Ashley, I…”

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

She starts crying again. Fucking a.

Truth being, I’m an asshole.