How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(21) Ninety-nine Percent Trinidad

Make sure to VOTE my fannies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :)))

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              I was 99.9% sure that Sin Trinidad had run over an old lady with his car. Too bad I was too distracted by my stubby nails, and countless teenage issues to even care.

                  "I can't believe you were at Crave, Pepper," Sin said for billionth time, running a hand through that thick, soft looking brown hair of his that curled delicately behind his ears, at his nape, and along his forehead. Even though his hair was deliciously perfect, it was evident that he hadn't styled his hair. In fact, it was still mussed a little from the woman that had been straddling his lap.

                  "Well, at first I had trouble believing you were a  psychotic pedophile, but that quickly passed, and now I've came face to face with the truth, so I guess we both were a little skeptical about believing each other's motives at first," I murmured into my hand bitterly, then even more muffled by my hand added, "Stupid hybrid-man wh*re humping middle aged women at night clubs. Keep it in your pants."

                  Sin gripped the wheel tightly until his knuckles went white, and pressed harder on the gas, making my body fling backwards onto the seat, and my hands grabbing at anything stationary in the car, like a mother with anxiety issues sitting the passenger seat of her kid's car that recently got their probationary license.

                   I quickly reached for my seat belt and decided to buckle myself. "Are you insane?" I asked, glaring at him. "Are you absolutely freaking insane? You're going eighty on a forty-five mile per hour road! You'll get pulled over or something!"

                  "The only cop in town is an idiot."

                  "Officer Mustache is a nice man! He's just...really, really, really dumb! "

                  "Just like you. I have to eat, you know," Sin grit out, "vampires all have to eat. You think what I did was psychotic? Going to a club and feeding from a woman that volunteered her neck? Ask my brother how he gets his food, he'll tell you where he burry's the bodies, and how hard he went with them in bed. He'll even draw you a graphic novel of it all with little stick figures, if he gets really into it."

                  "You're brother sent me flowers and candy, he's on a completely different level of sexy now. You know what level you're on, Sin? You're on the shitty level at the top of my shit list, and you're the star of my new novel, Sin Trinidad is a D-bag. Spoiler alert: you die at the end and I'm the one that murders your furry ass."

                  Sin ground his teeth together, slamming his finger into the radio until a pop station came on, and then leaned his head in his hand against the window, just like Gary had with me in the car.

                  I turned the radio off, glaring at him. "Cold-play won't get you off of my shit list. Had you not been at that club, I would have been able to scope out the exits! I would have been able to--" I stopped, quickly turning my head towards the window. Why don't you just tell him about that little mole on your butt, too, and about that time you accidently stapled a squirrel to a bird feeder, and instead of shriveling away and dying when you didn't tell anyone, the damn thing got all fat and ended up escaping for the staple because it was too obese, and wanted your mom's ham sandwich she was eating on the patio?! Rabies shots! Your fault.

                  "Scoping out exits," I forced out a  laugh, nervously flicking my gaze to Sin, "just making up stories again, aren't I? Gosh, I'm so dramatic sometimes. Scoping out exits? I don't even know what an exit is. I just enter, you know? That's how Pepper do's. Does. Doo-doo. Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo--"