The Time He Saw Her

The Seventh Time He Saw Her

The seventh time he saw her, he was genuinely surprised.

He had been sat in the far back corner of his cousin's enormous den, music blasting from seemingly everywhere. The dance floor in front of him were crowded and full of intoxicated, sweaty bodies close to grinding on each other. Red cups were seemingly everywhere, even in places they weren't supposed to be, like in the hands of already drunk minors.

And there she was.

Hurrying out of the crowded dance floor - pushing people out of her way with a expression of panic on her face -, she practically ran into his arms. He was about to question this, before he came face to face with the cause of her distress. His face immediately hardened.

"Oh, teaming up with mute-boy, are we?"

The cause had spat, his face one of disgust. He felt something igniting within him, memories of countless encounters, split lips and bruises. Once, even hospitalization on his side.

They eyed each other up. The leather jacket wearing boy in front of him didn't seem all too drunk. This only fueled the small fire inside of him.

Before he could think he had released her and crushed his jaw. Someone screamed, but it drowned in the loud music. A black leather jacket now had stains of red. They both left before the police came.