rage • l.h

3. back row

My first weekend on my own consisted of days exploring campus and the quaint college town we now lived in with Evie.

She didn't care when I locked myself in the bathroom and screamed every possible curse word because I spilt my root beer on the floor, and I didn't mind when she cried on our bedroom floor for two hours because her sister didn't answer the phone (she assumed she didn't love her anymore).

Whatever dorm advisor placed us together must have been playing some cruel joke. We were the opposite of two peas in a pod, but it worked for us. I spent countless hours sending my unimpressive résumé to every part time job within ten miles, because my bank account was dwindling, and I couldn't live on Evie's spinach salads if she wasn't going to buy normal fucking salad dressing. Not that I expected her to feed me, but I knew she'd been stealing my Walmart brand chips ahoy cookies in the middle of the night.

She asked about Luke more often than I liked, although she still had no idea about what happened. I was pretending it didn't, pretending that every time I passed his door I didn't feel like punching myself in the face because of embarrassment.

Another downside of being friends with Evie was the amount of boys who approached us. I know it wasn't me. They could see my scowl a mile away, but Evie was so sweet and sensual and bubbly and kind. I scared off half of the guys who tried anything when I scoffed at their lame attempts to get her attention. I told her any guy I scare off must be a pussy, therefore not worthy of her. She calls me her body guard now, even though she reminded me that her freshmen year is solely to get her body count to fifteen. I didn't object, or share that mine is in fact one, and that I would not be participating in this challenge. She didn't stop trying, though.

So as I stood, getting ready for my first 9 a.m of the semester, talking myself down from a fit of rage when my mascara smudged, I thought about my inevitable interaction with Luke. See you in psychology. I was the dumbass who left a printed copy of my schedule along with my full government name for him to see. I was supposed to remain an anomaly, dammit.

I'm best kept a mystery.

Of course, there's the fact that he had no doubt forgotten about our exchange. He probably wouldn't spare me a second glance, and I was okay with that. If only I could just forgot how hot he is, and how he's the only guy that hasn't been petrified of me in a year.

Because if I was being honest with myself, really truly honest with myself, I'd never loved being mean to anyone as much as I did him. And I know. I know that it's fucked up. It's demented and twisted and sadistic, but I craved it. He's the only guy that's been able to take it.

But then again, I didn't actually meet Luke, did I? He was trashed. I was trashed. We actually don't know each other at all.

Snap the fuck out of it.

"You're wearing sweats?" Evie barked from behind me.

Don't blow up. She didn't mean it like that.

"So?" I didn't try to hide my annoyance. We'd already had three arguments that ended in both of us in a fit of laughter.

"You just have a really good ass. Don't waste it." Evie shrugged while applying more blush.

"It's fucking college. I could wear my brothers Dunkin Donuts uniform and no one would give a fuck." I make no attempt at hiding my annoyance, and Evie makes no attempt at acknowledging it.

"At least wear a slutty top." she spoke.

"Well then I'd have raid your closet." My snarky reply earned a giggle and a beauty blender thrown at my face.