Erin [editing]

THIRTY-TWO| wyatt cooper

"It ain't no paradise, but it got a bed and that's all I give a shit about," Wyatt shrugged while kicking some of the boxes out of his way.

The apartment is located in a shady ass neighborhood with even shadier ass neighbors. His apartment building is ran by some skank I saw poking needles into her damn arm in the alley beside the apartments. Wyatt's apartment is covered with boxes and beer bottles, and it smells like straight up weed and vodka. The carpeted floor was torn in the living room area, while the tiles in the kitchen were poorly glued down on the ground.

"I just moved in if you wonderin'. 'Cause you lookin' like you ain't never been in the hood in the daylight before," Wyatt chuckled deeply.

I didn't respond because I wasn't really wondering, and because I don't give a shit about being in the hood or not. I took a seat on the couch and sat quietly. I don't know why I'm so quiet right now, it's fucking weird. It's like he has an effect over me that's keeping me quiet. That never fucking happens, never. He threw his sketch book on the counter and then looked at me.

"You ain't wonderin' how I live by myself?" Wyatt asked.

"Not really," I shrugged.

"Well I'm gone tell you anyways, sweet cheeks," Wyatt said and winked. "I turned eighteen November eighth."

I turned to him. "The eighth?"

"Surprisin', ain't it? Being born on the same day as Blair Adair, 'nd you wonder why your birthday ain't big like hers. Hell, you wonder why ain't nobody brang you no gifts or throw you no big ass party. You wonder that till you figure it all out, you ain't as important as she is and you'll nev'r fuckin' be," Wyatt said.

I didn't say anything immediately. "I'm sorry."

He pulled a beer from his fridge and handed me one, I gladly took it. He plopped down beside me on the couch and shook his head.

"Don't be, s'not your fault, little sophomore. You ain't did shit," Wyatt shrugged.

"I know," I said. "I'm not sorry personally, I'm sorry for you."

"Aye! Don't you get no sorry feelin's for me, you hear?" Wyatt frowned. "I ain't no person to feel sorry for."

"Okay," I said. "Okay."

He messily gulped down some of his beer before sighing and peeking at me. "You ain't answer my thoughtful messages, little sophomore."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You're the ass sending those?"

"The one and only," Wyatt winked and took another swig of beer. "Thoughtful, ain't it?"

"Not nearly as much as you think," I mumbled. "I have your number, though. Why didn't you just text me?"

"You think I'm a dumb son of a bitch? You ain't gone answer me when you datin' that pretty boy."

"His name is Grayson and we're fighting," I sighed.

"What the fuck you expect, little sophomore?" Wyatt chuckled.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked.

"You a god damn angry bitch," Wyatt laughed. "He a fuckin' saint with possessed virtue!"

"Bite me," I growled.

"Be glad to," he winked and shifted his body towards me. "So talk to me, what's gotten my little sophomore upset?"

I hesitated before answering him. But what the hell, why not? I huffed and thought where to start.