Knightly in Shining Armor

Lourdes

To say I was pissed was an understatement. I was so fucked off. That hijo de puta – son of a bitch – boy was making my life much harder than he needed to. And he was doing it deliberately! I had no words for him.

I started shuffling around, getting my things ready to leave. I was going to the soup kitchen. I hadn't been in for over a week and I felt awful because of it. I put some cash for a donation into my bag and grabbed some extra things I didn't need for the donations bin.

I heard the door open, followed by a voice in the hall that I didn't recognize. Who the hell was that? I shouldered my bag and wandered down to the doorway. Lukas was embracing a lithe, red-headed girl. I cocked an eyebrow and cleared my throat. Lukas turned around with a smirk, and the red-head shot me a lethal glare.

"Ahh, the psycho herself," Lukas strode over to me and slung an arm over my shoulder. "Luann, meet the foremost pain in my ass, Lourdes." There was an unnecessary amount of friendly affection in his voice. I shot him a confused look. Why so buddy-buddy all the sudden? Was he not just yelling at me like 10 minutes ago?

"Well, she's not the most attractive," The girl, Luann, said as if I wasn't in the room. I crossed my arms, giving her a quick once-over.

Her frame was thin and curvy. Her posture was near perfect. She had gorgeous, dark red hair, pale skin dusted with faint freckles, and gorgeous green eyes. She was dressed in form-hugging jeans, and a light, white blouse. In addition, she was wearing an olive-green autumn coat and black ankle boots. She was modelesque, to put it plainly.

I, on the other hand, was wearing a loose black sweater and torn skinny jeans. My hair was up in another bun, held in place by my pencils, and my glasses were perched on my nose. Sure, I didn't belong on the cover of Vogue, but did I need to if I was going to the soup kitchen?

"Well, Miss Priss, I'm actually on my way to the soup kitchens, so I don't believe I need to look to your standards at the moment." I brushed Lukas's hand off my shoulder. He wrapped it around my waist in retaliation.

"Aw, how cute." Lukas drawled. "Found some place to fit in, have you?"

That was it. The final draw for me. I had put up with his attitude, disregard for me and my home, and his intolerant comments long enough. I'm generally against violence unless it's necessary, but he was finally under my skin. I pushed him off of me and graced his cheek with an open palm.

The smack echoed through the apartment. His head swung to the side as he spun into the impact. He landed on his knees, a hand clutching his cheek. Luann gasped and hurried to his side. She looked up at me, fire in her eyes.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" She shrieked in a shrill, north-Irish accent.

"I'd like to know who you think you are," I fired back. "Insulting me the moment you step foot in my home. Was that jealousy I heard earlier? What are you jealous of? The fact that we're sharing an apartment?

"Oh, or is it the fact that we've shared the same bed? Can you say the same?" Her face flushed with anger. "Of course, it's really not all it's cracked up to be. He snores, did you know that? I suppose not, huh?"

Luann launched herself upward. I had a few inches on her, which reduced her intimidation factor. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back.

"What are you insinuating, huh?" She spat. "That I'm jealous of someone who works in a soup kitchen? That's absurd!" I rolled my eyes.

"At least I'm giving back. Let me guess: you're one of those rich-bitch types like this asshole over here? The type of person who is so self-absorbed with themselves and their problems that they couldn't care less about everything else?