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notsopeacefulHe didn't put up much of a fight.
I don't - not Keith the sports jerk. Paul. Paul the ex-boyfriend jerk.
It's funny, really. I surprised even myself when it happened. We were in the backseat of his car, doing what you normally do in the backseats of cars, and it just... happened. I don't even remember what I said, but I remember... I remember almost jumping away from him, I remember putting my shirt on, I remember pulling my jacket closed, and I remember the look on his face. He had no idea. He was stunned. And I walked away, and I think - I think I must have hitched a ride back to where I left my car.
I sat in my car for an hour, parked by the television studio. It had that cold, empty car feeling, the way cars do after you've left them alone all day. They feel lifeless. They feel dead. It's a strange feeling - it always makes me want to turn the key and the floor it. But I sat there and waited for the sports jerk. My parents thought I was supposed to be out all night for Paul's birthday; I wasn't going to waste a curfew-less night.
Yeah. I broke up with my boyfriend on his birthday, then I went to pick a fight with a sportscaster - a sportscaster who didn't want to fight. I got in his car and he still wouldn't fight. Talk, debate, buy me pancakes, sure, but not fight. Wouldn't apologize, either, but he wouldn't fucking fight with me. I told him I broke up with my boyfriend and he took me to the park to play catch. Who the hell does that?
He owes me a fight.
I don't - not Keith the sports jerk. Paul. Paul the ex-boyfriend jerk.
It's funny, really. I surprised even myself when it happened. We were in the backseat of his car, doing what you normally do in the backseats of cars, and it just... happened. I don't even remember what I said, but I remember... I remember almost jumping away from him, I remember putting my shirt on, I remember pulling my jacket closed, and I remember the look on his face. He had no idea. He was stunned. And I walked away, and I think - I think I must have hitched a ride back to where I left my car.
I sat in my car for an hour, parked by the television studio. It had that cold, empty car feeling, the way cars do after you've left them alone all day. They feel lifeless. They feel dead. It's a strange feeling - it always makes me want to turn the key and the floor it. But I sat there and waited for the sports jerk. My parents thought I was supposed to be out all night for Paul's birthday; I wasn't going to waste a curfew-less night.
Yeah. I broke up with my boyfriend on his birthday, then I went to pick a fight with a sportscaster - a sportscaster who didn't want to fight. I got in his car and he still wouldn't fight. Talk, debate, buy me pancakes, sure, but not fight. Wouldn't apologize, either, but he wouldn't fucking fight with me. I told him I broke up with my boyfriend and he took me to the park to play catch. Who the hell does that?
He owes me a fight.
