.:One-Shot:.
.:Rated T for language:.

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Clop, clop, clop.

The loud, wet sounds of soaked sneakers flopping down on hard pavement echoed so loudly throughout the naked rue that it nearly hurt my ears. I was the biggest asshole in the world right now; I had just broken a girl's heart, and badly in her opinion, and here I was just watching her run away from me. I had cared about her, and then the one jour that people start making fun of us I decide to go all homicidal. They a dit we weren't a real thing, that she was just using me to make me look useful. But I know that all I am is a piece of worthless, punk, juvenile shit.

Move, man. Go get her.

But I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to. I mean, yea, there was something inside the little dried up piece of l’amour that I called a cœur, coeur that made me want to keep her with me, but I wasn't the type of guy to go running after a girl and confess my l’amour for her and just hug her and Kiss her and cry, but I wasn't that type of guy. And moments like this I wish I was. Moments like this I wish I hadn't been clouded with such guilt that made my stomach heavy, that made my chest hurt. It's moments like this I wish I wasn't born such a douschebag.

My Ma had even called me that to my face. I had disgraced her so much that she had actually reached her breaking point and called me a dick and an asshole to my face. My brothers call me all sorts of pointless shit that I would probably repeat to my Pa to piss him off, but not to my Ma. I l’amour my Ma dearly, but my father means absolutely nothing to me. He's like spit on the ground in front of me that I'm looking down upon. He still pisses me off to the point where I wanna smash his head against the glass sliding doors to the porch and just tower over him and watch him bleed and suffer. He does that emotionally to us, what's the difference if I physically do it to him?

Pa has never liked any of his children. My older brother Kyle used to pull pranks on our old man all the time, and if toi can tell I sorta grew up off of him. He used to tie a string around Pa's hairpiece when he slept and when he woke up he would yank the fake fuck hair off his bald little head and drag it around the house, and we would all laugh in amazement as Pa fell multiple times and tripped over every little fucking thing. My childhood was both one of the worst things I've experienced, and one of the most entertaining. Then my little sister Sammi who is now two years younger than me, she used to set things up in Pa's room so that when she tugged on the clear string that was attached to stuff, they would move, and Pa was sooooo convinced that his room was haunted. I wouldn't blame him; Pa was a skeptic, meaning he never believed shit that any of us told him. A few years il y a Ma told him that there was a baby screaming down the rue and it was on the sidewalk, and Pa didn't hear it at all, and he a dit if he can't hear it ou see it, it ain't real. So being the family skeptic it took a lot to scare him, and I mean A LOT. Sometimes it took a miracle to freak him out.

So this was basically my entire life. I was the womanizer of the family, because chicks were the only pleasure I could find in my hellhole I call a life. Besides beating up nerdy freshmen, I always looked for my own girl toy, a chick who would do anything I wanted without hesitation. I was never one to fall in love; girls were only a use to me for my own libido. I loved the feeling of some aléatoire chick who I didn't even know her name, going down on me. Yeah, I'm a whore, what the fuck of it? I'll live my life how I want it.

Then, there was her.

Courtney Bridgewood.

The richest 16 an old girl in Canada.

The prep who never worries about anything but Honor Roll and grades and studying.

The bossiest, bitchiest prude toi could ever find.

And my princess.

She was the first challenge I had ever come across; usually when I approach a girl she's already all over me, but every time I tried to get two words out to Courtney, she stuck her nose up in the air and walked away snootily. I loved it when girls played hard to get, all guys do. Well, guys of my stamina. But she was different. She wasn't just a challenge, she was a source of entertainment. We would always bicker and argue over stupid shit that I can't even name, and it would just end in pointless silence ou me having bruised nuts.

I had craved her attention every jour because it was just so amusing to watch her become flustered trying to out-bitch me. She was one of the smartest girls I knew, and I knew a lot of girls, but she wasn't very easy with words. She had a large vocabulary, so half the words she called me I had no clue what they meant. But that drew me to her all the more. And the biggest reason I craved her was her body. Oh, her body was a story all its own. She had such an hourglass figure, with her wide, curvy hips and inflated ass. When I had hugged her once I saw through her chemise that she was a 32C, and that made me very hot and bothered. This is my scale on girls:

Girls with big boobs equal hot.
Girls with slim figure and medium boobs equal hotter.
Girls with slim figure and large boobs equal S.E.X.Y.

So Courtney, just breathing my air around me, turned me on all par herself. The way her face crinkled up in such an adorable way when she was annoyed made her look like a doll. Her skin was flawless and had such a healthy, golden glow to it, and it was always soft and smelled of warm cinnamon. Damn, just thinkin' bout it now gets me bothered. Every time I recalled something about her body, my pants got tighter. No, we didn't have sex yet, and that pissed me off all the more. With other girls, we'd be dating two days, I'd Kiss them once, and the suivant thing I new I was making a girl moan and scream out my name. With Courtney, I've been dating her for a mois and we'd kissed once outside the school. Once. Men like me have urges, and I wasn't getting them fulfilled, so she really started to get on my nerves.

And then we get to the break-up. It was a nasty break-up, y'know, where the chick's wearing mascara and the guy lets her know he's done then she turns into a hot mess with messed up hair and a face full of running mascara and she's kicking and screaming and sobbing, and the guy's balls are to pay for it. Yep, that was exactly me and Courtney.

Although I have a reason for breaking up with her, I still call myself such a jackass for goin' along with it. I put my fucking cœur, coeur and soul into this relationship because I felt something spark between us, not some fucking lust craze I get around other girls, not desire, but it felt all warm and inviting. Like one of those old-timey houses with a lush green lawn and a woman wearing a flowered tablier and holding a plate of pancakes. I think I loved her...

No, no, no fucking way, Duncan Evans does NOT fall in love. No way, no, not in a million years.

Give it up dude, toi l’amour her.

But that's not me! I've never had anything in my life to love! My life is just a pile of shit that God got tired of and dropped from his golden nuage we call Heaven. I fucked everything up, all on my own, and I just fucked up my own life and made it worse. How could I possibly fall in l’amour if I don't even have a heart?

...

Oh, NOW toi shut up! Go to hell, conscience, I'm busy. Anyway, I never told toi why I dumped Courtney. It wasn't exactly her, but it was plus her parents. Knowing her dad, he would never even let me walk an inch into the house, let alone take Courtney out on a date. That's why I always snuck in her window like Romeo and Juliet. We would spend the nights together and I would sleep in her bed, and whenever her parents came in I would roll off the lit and roll under it. Her having a lit like a foot off the ground really had its advantages. Then her parents would come in, tuck her into bed, Kiss her goodnight, and leave, and I would return to the comfort of Courtney.

But her parents found out.

I was in her room cradling her in my arms as we layed on the lit together (shut the fuck up readers, I'm not going soft, I'm having a loving moment) and we were talking about school and finding time to Kiss in the staircases under the stairs where we would be hidden, and her parents barged in with Courtney on haut, retour au début of me. To me, she was resting her head in my neck and raking her nails up and down my chest, turning me on further, as if she wasn't already a turn on. But to her fucktard of a father, apparently we were dry humping.

So what does he do?

He takes a fusil, carabine out from behind Courtney's bureau that neither of us knew was there, shoots me in the shoulder, and kicks me out a two-story window par my chest. I can still remember the horrifying memory. I still remember all the blood puddles on Courtney's cerise oak floor leading to her window, I can still hear her screams, her shrill, violent screams, sounding almost like someone was strangling her. I still remember her dark doe eyes turning to a shade of dark red, and red with boiling rage. I have seen eyes that color before, my father always had them. Especially when he was drunk. Courtney's father told me never to come within twenty feet of their house, considering her house was six houses down from mine. So not wanting to get a bullet shot through my chest, I told Courtney I couldn't see her anymore, and she took it as if I didn't want her anymore since she was very different from my other toys. My father had called them my bitches.

Don't get me wrong, I still think about Courtney night and day, but I think about how on earth I'm going to fix all this shit. I think about how I'm going to possibly get the chance to apologize, let alone see her again. When toi break a girl's heart, they ignore toi for long periods of time, and Courtney was an expert at holding grudges. She's held a grudge on me from kindergarten to fifth grade when I a volé, étole her sippy cup in pre-school, ou nursery hell as I call it.

I just wonder if she knows I still l’amour her.

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