“I had called him out on being creepy, justifiably so, and it didn’t faze him at all. He didn’t stammer an apology or flush with shame and regret. He just kept looking at me evenly. Most likely, he was a damn sociopath, and for whatever reason, I found that endearing.”

“And he left. I watched him walk out – he didn’t say good-bye, he didn’t even look back. It scared me, how easy it was for him to do that.”

“Most girls bored me outta my gourd, but this girl was intriguing. Entertaining, even. I didn’t faze her, at least not in a positive way. My very presence seemed to make her want to puke, and I found that strangely endearing.”

“I looked at him like he was an idiot, but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he got it so often, he thought that was how people looked at him.”

“Maybe he didn’t really encourage me to do things, but he didn’t prevent me from doing them either. But after a while, I didn’t do things because I didn’t want him to think different about me. But the thing is, I wasn’t being honest. So, why would I care whether or not he loved me when he didn’t really even know me?”

“I didn’t say a word. I just stared at him. I figured I didn’t owe him an answer, and I was too proud to even talk. I didn’t want to tell him a damn thing about me.”