25 Days with Mister Arrogant

Car Trouble

**originally written by the glorious authour Heyepic from Tokio Hotel Fiction. Link to her profile:

http://fiction.tokiohotelfiction.com/viewuser.php?uid=22414 This story has been given an award for best Het fiction and recently celebrated it's 1 year mark.**

Story Notes: There is a Korean movie called '100 Days With Mr. Arrogant' that inspired this story. i do not own that story, and this one will be very different from the movie. just so ya know.

Chapter 1: Car Trouble

“You’re breaking up with me?”

His head hung slightly and he stared down at the pasta plate in front of him, his eyes avoiding mine. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled, shrugging lightly. “I just feel like our relationship is going nowhere.”

I leaned back in my chair, my eyes not leaving him, the anger in me building up in a frightening manner. No. Oh no. This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t.

“How precious, Cole,” I said after a moment, sneering at him. “Breaking up on our six month anniversary, how perfect.” I paused for a moment, inhaling deeply through my nose, and had the incredible urge to spew word vomit at the boy situated across from me. Keep it down keep it down keep it down. “Did you plan this out, hmm? Did you think it would be perfect timing to fuck me over on our half year?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No- no, don’t you dare say that,” I snapped, my voice rising. “Say anything but you’re sorry.”

“Anna…” He sighed, trailing off, and looked up then. His eyes were wavering slightly as he stared at me, “You… you deserve better than me. I mean that.”

I’d heard enough of him at this point, and stood from my seat, chucking the napkin into my plate of untouched chicken penne. “It’s fine,” I announced coldly, “I was going to do this eventually, so I should be thanking you for saving me the trouble.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I was already well on my way out of the restaurant, storming past the hostess with rage flowing through my veins, intoxicating me. Shoving the door open and stepping outside into the cool night air, I realized I needed to clear my head before I did anything irrational. Taking long strides, I followed the uneven sidewalk into a back alley, which wrapped around to an empty parking lot.

I stopped and sat on the curb, my legs stretched in front of me, my hands balled into fists in my pockets. When my fingers brushed against an object in the right pocket of my jacket, rage once again consumed my entire being. I pulled out the object and dropped it into my lap; it was a small, flat box, a red bow stuck on the top. I opened it, my breathing becoming erratic as my eyes landed on the two small strips of paper laid gently within the tissue paper. Two tickets to a Yankee’s game. The seats were amazing – the price, however, was not so helpful on my bank account. I’d waited in the rain for these tickets. Underneath them was tucked a small piece of paper.

Happy six months! I love you.

God, I was a fucking moron.

My fingers closed around the box in a tight grip, turning my knuckles white, and before I could help myself, I had stood up quickly and chucked the object as far and as fast as I could. I was breathing heavier now, a sense of relief washing through me, and I smiled maliciously to myself. That felt good, I decided. Yes, very good. I brushed my hands on the tops of my legs and began to walk back towards the main street, empowerment pulsating through me, but I hadn’t gotten very far because a voice broke my thoughts.