make you miss me • q. hughes

12

"Can I say something that might piss you off?"

I blink at my best friend of nearly six years a couple of times. "Since when do you ask before doing that?"

"Quinn's a usually quieter guy," she says.

"Okay." The urge to roll my eyes even hearing his name in that admiring tone Val has when talking about the people she loves is strong. I manage through though. "And?"

"And he's getting into loud arguments with you after like a month of knowing each other."

"That's not a rare thing with me."

She nods. "Yeah, but like... I don't know."

"Yeah, you do."

"I absolutely know."

That one sets alarms off. Most of the time I wouldn't bat an eye at her mirroring my words like that but fucking hell I have a secret here. She could be trying out cryptic messages to tell me Trevor told her or she found out on her own or—

"I'm not complaining or anything," she says with a shrug that's kind of fucky 'cause of the way she's laying on the couch. "It's fun watching you get people fired up. It sometimes seems like there's more there than not liking each other, is all."

"Gross."

"Yep. Well, go get dressed."

"Why?"

"Goin' out in an hour. Surprise!"

* * * * *

The way his eyes are on me when I'm not even looking at him burns. Burns in a radioactive way. It'll be the death of me. I'm bored though. So I'm entertaining this guy. Think his name is Finn or something.

"—I mean, I totally would have done it but you know how it is," he rambles. Some sad attempt at impressing me when I'm not even fully listening.

I nod. "Totally."

"Your whole mystery girl thing is really fucking hot."

"I'm not a mystery you've just only talked about yourself," I say.

"Well, if you want to talk about us I'm all ears, baby." He says it so casually. There's no emotion to it. This is getting boring too. My limit for boredom is even lower when drinking.

My brain searches for that other burning stare. The one that's like a flame I can get too close to. That isn't going to slowly kill me even though it very well could be the end of me. God, I need to stop drinking.

"What do you say?"

"Nah."

Finn or whatever's face takes on a shade of red. "You think I was over here talking to you for no reason, bitch?"

"Well, maybe. Figured you liked the sound of your own voice and that's what it was."

"I knew I should haven't come up to such an ugly whore." His face keeps getting redder. More emotion with the less I have. "Figured you don't get any fucking attention and would be easy."

"I'm anything but easy, Finn."

"It's Colin."

Huh. I was close. "Are you sure? I could have sworn it was Finn."

"No, you slut. Probably one of the other million guys you've fucked."

"Probably." I shrug.

"You're a fucking bitch."

A hand on my upper back cuts him off from going on. Thank god, even that little spiel was getting tired. Do you know how many times I've been called that stuff in a bar by some guy who thinks lifting weights will solve his problems? Too many times.