The hoops in her ears are so big she’d fly away if they caught wind.
And a jean mini skirt? What is this, the eighties?
I stalk her down the hallway and Conor’s too busy flirting with some other blonde to notice.
When she reaches for the doorknob of Rory’s room, I tap her on the shoulder.
“What?” she snaps her gum and turns around.
“Take a hike, kid,” I tell her.
She smirks and crosses her arms. And we’re still in middle school, and this is the girl curling her lip in disgust like I’m the one who has no taste.
“You take a fucking hike.” She snaps her gum again. “Kid.”
Sigh.
They make everything so goddamn difficult. People should know when they see me coming to get the fuck out of my way.
She asks if my dress cost five dollars and I laugh because she’s too ignorant to know it’s Valentino and I’m done being nice.
I grab her by the collar and slam her against the wall.
“Get your hands off me,” she says.
I’m ready to let her scamper off until she opens her pink frosted lips again.
“They sent me back here. I’m supposed to take care of him.”
She wants crazy, and she’s going to get it.
“You couldn’t handle him. He likes it rough.”
“I think I handled him just fine the last time I was here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “Did I say him? I meant me. You couldn’t handle me, sweetheart.”
I yank the knife from my sheath and dig the flat edge against her throat.
And finally… finally… the woman has some sense.
“Alright, alright… Jesus, you fucking psycho. Let me go. You can have him.”
I let her go, and she scoots away from me, tracking me over her shoulder as she trots off. There’s no fun in going after her, but I still need to make a point here.
To her and any other woman who thinks they’re going to get a piece of Rory.
He’s my toy, and I don’t fucking share.
“Come near him again and I’ll cut out your heart.”
She gives me crazy eyes and nearly trips over her own heels. But she’s gone now, and I’m happy.
Frigging amateurs.
He’s sitting in a chair, towel draped over his head as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs.
If I had a poetic bone in my body, I might say it’s a compelling image of him.
