Wordsmoker

The plan was to head over to Fucktard’s for the evening. His mom picked me up, and then later she stupidly left me alone with him. (Dumb ass bitch! I don’t understand parents; they think they’re helping and encouraging their kids to have some romantic time by leaving them alone. It’s the worst thing anyone could do considering it’s us — somebody usually almost dies every time.)

Fucktard attacked me! I was having a glass of water and eating a banana when he started throwing boxes at me until I fell down and my glass shattered everywhere. I was on the floor lying on a bunch of glass, and then Fucktard came up to me and took my banana out of my hand, while laughing hysterically at the sight of me squirming around on top of a bunch of glass shards. He started throwing pieces of banana at me. He put banana in my hair, and between my toes. I should have expected this. I had been caught off guard, I had gotten lazy, and I had little slivers of glass in my arms and hands. As I struggled to get up he flung little pieces of mashed up banana into my face.

I tried to counter attack but I could only manage to get him off me and onto the floor in the other room. I subdued him enough to keep him still, but aside from that I couldn’t make any kill-attempts. We mostly just bit each other. The rest of our “romantic time” involved wrestling around and listening to whatever cartoons were on the TV.

When his family got home we sort of snuggled up like nothing was wrong and watched TV, we cleaned up the fight scene a little bit. I rubbed the banana back onto him when nobody was looking. Eventually his Mom asked him to take me home.

He said “I love you,” as I stepped out of the car.

“Go fuck yourself. I’ll stab you next time, you annoying little tit,” I murmured.

He was silent.

He sped away, and I walked up to the door of my apartment. I paused for a moment; I wondered what Valentine’s Day would be like. How could I counter attack next time? I needed to end this.

I dug around in my bag feeling for my keys. They weren’t there. I checked my pockets and checked my bag again. It was nearly minus 35 Celsius and I wasn’t sure what to do at 3 AM. I quickly texted Fucktard.

“Yo Bitch…” I sent.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Did you steal my keys and leave me out in the cold to die?” I asked.

“Yes.” He replied.

I was sure that I would kill him the next time I saw him.