A guide to hate Liam Miller

My fortune cookie lied to me

#PRESENT

Definitely walking in the middle of the night, without shoes through one of the most dangerous streets in the city, wearing a second-hand shattered dress, and being accompanied by my sworn rival was not on my bingo card for this year.

Anyway, I'm so furious, I don't really care. I just want to make it to the pigsty I call home and curl into my bed, which is more like a bunch of springs fighting to punch my ribs, cheap sheets starting to tear on a corner and a Shrek blanket with the slogan "Come to my swamp".

Don't judge me. They were 50% off.

I swear in a whisper when I step over another doubtful density puddle with my bare feet.

If it wasn't for my terrible partner and the unfortunate events I had to tolerate the last twenty hours, I could actually enjoy a night walk. The night's not hot, just warm enough for me to go over there with a light dress and don't feel cold.

"Ellie Wilson, I'm begging you" Miller started saying for the umpteenth time tonight. "Please, please take my shoes" Unlike the last three hundred times, he stands before me to block my steps and bends enough to look straight into my eyes.

Considering it was his fault everything went to hell tonight, I'm lowkey enjoying he feels extra guilty for being an idiot. I left my high heels on a trash can four streets ago. My left heel broke when that girl threw the first punch and I tripped over my own feet.

Who would have thought one-dollar shoes were so weak?

He's been walking barefoot by my side the last forty minutes, insisting on getting me a taxi, giving me his shoes, or carrying me in his arms to my house. I've been ignoring him for the last forty minutes, singing in my mind to ignore his massive presence next to me.

If I knew how to fight and wasn't a good whole feet shorter, I would kick his ass. To my bad luck, it's not like that.

I'd been replaying the complete Twenty One Pilots discography on the publication order to keep me busy. Now I was on Elton John's I Still Standing when I stepped on a broken bottle glass.

To say I swore and cursed would be an euphemism. It was more like I verbally threw up on three languages, wishing bad luck to all the world's glasses, bottles, and bottle creators. Including their ancestors and heirs.

The world would be a better place if everything we bought came into cardboard boxes that can't stab bare feet of idiot people like me.

I look up at the skies because I have the certainty if I look below, I'll black out and fall face-first into another glass. Look, I have seen a LOT of really impressive wounds in the ER, and every single time, I have proceeded with calm. I have sutured, reanimated, bandaged, and stopped bleeding without hesitate. But a glass sunk on my foot? That's another's bag flour.

"Ok, that's enough. We're leaving." Miller puts his perfect shoes on and picks me up before I can protest. He places me over his shoulder as if I was a damn sack and holds me by the back of my knees. "Don't even think to fight or we'll fall."

It's not like I want to fight anyway, my foot hurts too much and every movement sends another wave of pain over my leg. I felt like it was burning.

Is that what my marshmallows feel like?

He picks up his phone and calls a taxi while walking back to where we had come from, as if he was used to walk over there with fifty kilograms of pure hate over his shoulder three times a week.

I hit him without strength just to annoy him because it's a once on a lifetime opportunity to attack his back. I just get more furious when I feel his chest shaking with laugh. But my foot hurts too much so I end up frowning, arms crossed thinking if the premeditated murder condemn would be worth it.

I must say in an incredible act of braveness, I held the tears for three and a half streets before breaking down. It had been a long exhausting day and I felt lonelier than ever.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted. I knew. And yet there I go and believe everything they say to me." I sob over Liam's back. I hope to stain his tuxedo so much with my tears and snot that he can never fully clean it. I think I feel his thumb caressing my thigh where his hand holds me, behind my knees.

"May I know who did you believed that caused you so much harm, Wilson?" His tone was light and relaxed. Why doesn't he sound tired? He's walked almost six streets at a considerable speed and yet he breaths calmly. Stupid athletes. I hate him.
I clean my nose with the back of my hand and consider rubbing it against his clothes. It takes all my self-control to keep my hand away. I know he's trying to make it easier for me.

"My fortune cookie" I cry, tired of fighting. "It said 'You will have a day full of happiness and good moments, enjoy them with all.' And I believed it. I wanted to believe it." I hear the taxi approaching before the lights project our long shadows at Miller's back. "I swear on the moment I don't have a damn glass stabbing my damn foot, I will make you pay for being the damn world-class idiot you are."

Miller opens the taxi door and places me carefully on his arms while getting into the cab. Paying extra attention to keep my foot from touching anything.

Now I see his stupid face, my wrath comes alive again.

"You are an idiot, miserable, damned caveman, scoundrel..."

"To the closest hospital, please." He says to the driver while handing him a good fifty bucks, not giving a fuck about my insults or my finger hitting his solid chest with every accusation. "And make it as fast as possible."

"presumptuous, insufferable moron, cretin, stupid, petulant..."

Liam Miller lowers his eyes until he finds my eyes, and then, he has the nerve to smile.