The Fuck Up

ii.

Honestly, I preferred getting drunk in my own shitty apartment. But there’s only so much beer you can buy from the convenience store at a time before they start to look at you funny.

So, sometimes, when I saved up enough from my two shitty jobs, I’d go to the bar and blow most of it on getting drunk as fuck.

Little ole clueless me didn’t know that this bar was a place Harley frequented.

And little ole clueless me also didn’t know that I’d left an impression on him when we first met. But not the kind you’d think. Unlike normal people would’ve reacted, Harley wasn’t freaked out or afraid for his fucking life. No, my boy was intrigued, as he so likes to put it.

He’d not been expecting to see me again, but he’d been hoping. And ding-ding-ding! He got his fucking wish.

When he approached me this time—before I’d even had time to order any drinks—he actually sat down, as if he was planning to stay. Startled wasn’t even the word to describe me.

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked without restraint, face scrunched. Everyone knows you don’t sit directly next to someone in a bar unless you want to start something with them.

“Harley,” he replied simply, letting his eyes roam over my body. And let me tell you, that little move made me hella uncomfortable. I felt like he could see right through me; right into the depths of my blackened soul.

“And what the fuck do you want?” I had to resist the urge to squirm under his observant look. I would not let this random guy get to me—not on my Get-Shitfaced-As-Fuck night.

“To talk.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Why?”

He seemed amused, making me glower. “Isn’t that what you do when you want to get to know people?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’ll have you know, that I don’t want to get to know people, let alone you, therefore goodbye.”

“Well I do want to get to know people, and I want to get to know you. So, hello.” The grin he sent me was unsettling and I sent him a weird look before deciding to just ignore him.

I ordered my drinks and had almost forgotten about him when he spoke up again.

“So what’s your name?”

I don’t know why the hell I answered him, but I did. “Reed.”

“Where are you from?”

“The shitty apartment around the fucking corner,” I growled out, hoping the little shit would leave me the fuck alone.

He laughed. Laughed. He had the gall to fucking laugh. His amusement made me hate him even more. “No, I mean, where are you from?”

“Where am I from?” I laughed bitterly, swigging my beer. “Hell.”

He was silent for a few seconds before he mumbled a thoughtful, “Huh.”

I glanced at him sideways for the first time, smirking. “Must be, right? Someone so ready to set a crowded building up in flames must’ve been born in them.”

He laughed again, apparently he couldn’t help it, and I realized with a horrified glance that I’d been wanting to make him do so.

“‘Hell hath no fury,’” he quoted with a slight smile, oblivious to my mental disgust at myself.

“Compared to me?” Why the fuck was I continuing this stupid banter?

His smiled widened. “Compared to you,” he affirmed.

I rolled my eyes and turned away from him.

“College?”

“Just finished,” I answered shortly, grabbing a shot and chugging it. I could feel his eyes following the movement.

He continued to ask impersonal questions and I continued to give him short, uncaring answers.  It was the only way to seem impassive instead of fucking unnerved and all I really wanted to do was get the hell away from him.

“Why do you drink so much when you’re here?” he asked quietly, and when I stiffened I think he’d sensed his crossed some line.

Oh he’d crossed the line, alright. He’d crossed the fucking line.

“Get the fuck out of my face before I spit on you,” I growled dangerously, angry that he’d ruined the innocence of the fucking conversation and reminded me of why I was, in fact, a fuck up.

He stayed for a few seconds before sighing and walking off, making something in my chest do something fucking strange. I ignored it, drinking until I couldn’t see a damn thing.