One of the things I disliked with a fierce passion was stereotypes. Who was to say that all alcoholics were vagrants? That every tall person played basketball? To state that men couldn't cry because it wasn't masculine or that a woman's intellect could never reach the high standards of a man's? It irritated me to no end, but I couldn't deny that I was sounding like a stereotypical girly girl having a nervous breakdown about their appearance for a date, because that was how I was acting, if not worse.

Perhaps I hated the thought even more when it was to do with me because I'd spent so long thinking of myself as something completely separate and detached from everyone else. I wasn't a stereotypical anything. I never really had been and didn't think I'd ever be. Yet I was, apparently, when prepping for a date.

Not that I was doing any of the prepping.

"Am I making this into too big of a hoo ha?" I asked the reflection of Skylar before me. She'd come to my house to help me get ready for my date with Parker and was currently doing something with my hair in front of the mirror.

She quirked an eyebrow up, perplexed. "Can I have that again in English please?"

"Am I, you know, making this into too big of a deal? I mean, he said it quite casually-"

"And with extremely short notice." Skylar butted in with a sigh.

"-and asked it like it was something ordinary." Aside from the vulnerable expression he'd got on his face when I'd taken too long to answer and I'd impulsively kissed him. Not that I told Skylar that part, of course. As far as she knew, the riskiest we'd ever been intimate-wise was holding and kissing hands. "He's probably been on loads of dates and I've only been on the one he wrecked."

"You know what I think of him. He's an ass. A good looking one, but still an ass. He doesn't deserve you and I still think you're a bit of an idiot for liking him. But if you like him, I'm happy for you." Skylar fiddled with my hair from behind. I think she was supposed to be straightening it but quite frankly she was doing a better job at burning the skin on the nape of my neck. At least that's what it felt like, anyway. "It could go great, a night filled with red rose petals and a dinner with Cupid sitting between you with his bow loaded; or it could be a catastrophe where you bump into a couple hundred of his ex-flings. Only you really know him. Only you will have the best idea of how the night will carry out."

I glared at her. "That was a really great pep talk, matey. Much appreciated."

"I'm not here to dish out pep talks, I'm here to spill truth tea and do your hair and make up."

"And roast me, apparently." I muttered. The straighteners clipped my ear and I yelped. "Woman, don't literally roast me! That's not cool."

"I still can't believe he's proposed a date on such short notice and without even saying where you're going. Doesn't he know that it takes a certain amount of time to get ready? That clues need to be given to know which way to dress?" She tutted under her breath as she set the straighteners down and switched them off. She turned me around to face her and started attacking me with brushes. "Remember the date I went on with Ben?"

I nodded and she flicked me on the nose, scalding me for moving. She set back to work soon after. "The one you said was a disaster?"

"We went go-karting, Flo," She sighed as though the memory pained her. He'd been her major crush in freshman year. Her next words were strained, as if it took great strength to relive this moment. "I wore a dress."

"So?"

"What do you mean so?" The brushes began to dab more forcefully and I made a mental note not to irritate or question her when she was armed with potential weapons as I sat with my eyes shut. "I was in a floating dress, sequinned and bejewelled, ready for an evening meal. Ben was wearing basketball shorts and an old shirt. The entire night was ruined because he kept telling me that what we were going to do would be a surprise."

I snorted at her melodramatic tale. It would have sucked but she was making it sound like some terrible tragedy. In fact, she was showing more emotion now than she had when her dog had died. "So what you're saying is I should wear jeans and an old shirt?"

That earned another flick on the nose.

After another twenty minutes or so of powdering, smoothening, contouring, pointless bickering and outfit changing, we'd decided on something that satisfied both of us. Neutral makeup, toned down, nothing too fancy - though it was still far more than I normally put on. My clothing had been made into a huge ordeal no thanks to Skylar's adamance that the outfit really mattered on a first date as it could dictate the entire relationship (that caused a ten minute argument), but we'd settled on a happy medium. My input was that it had to be jeans, flat shoes and a shirt. Skylar had brought her entire wardrobe with her for this momentous occasion and so she selected the most slimming pair of skinny black jeans she owned matched with a black bralette and sheer, lacy cropped top. I'd heavily opposed to the cropped top at first, but later she'd struck a bargain with me to wear my ratty Chuck Taylor's if I wore the top.

My God, did I love those trusty sneakers.

Due to the cold winter weather I had to wear my old leather jacket - much to Skylar's disappointment. She was very much a looks-over-comfort type of girl. I was the opposite but I did feel good when I looked at myself. It was clear that I'd made an effort (for once) and I felt sort of edgy with my ever so slightly kohl lined eyes. It was cool for a one time thing, but honestly, it was too much effort to maintain. I didn't know how Skylar did it every morning. I wasn't about that life. I was about sleeping until lunch time and rolling outside with bed head still intact. Nothing would ever change that.

Thankfully my mother was out which meant that Parker was safe to ring my doorbell without the chance of her standing behind the door to order him away from her daughter. It had to have been at least the tenth time she'd been held back at the bakery in the past few weeks. As convenient as it was today, if it happened again I'd have to convince her to complain to her boss. How much baked goods could one woman make? Especially without dinner.

"That's him." I said after hearing the shrill ring of the bell.

"You don't say," Skylar rolled her eyes before prising my rigid fingers from her arm. "Now get your vice-like grip off of me before you stop my blood from circulating. Unless you want me to accompany you guys? I'll have you know that my favourite pastime is to third wheel-"

"Okay, okay it's your cue to leave." I let her arm go as we hurried down the stairs.

"I'm going to slither out of the back door. Don't want lover boy to catch your stylist and realise she's hotter now, do you?" She started down the hallway before hesitating. She turned to me and smiled. "I know I can be kind of whiny and opinionated most of the time, but for what it's worth, he's good for you. Before you met him you were even hesitant to hold onto my forearm. Thanks to him you can. If he doesn't harness his inner Ben tonight and wear basketball shorts or break your heart... Then I guess he has my approval." And with that, she took off down the hallway in search of the back door. After I heard her slam it shut, I swung open the front door.

To someone who most definitely wasn't my date.

"For a minute I thought I was being stood up," Jason smiled as his eyes appraised my profile. He nodded his head in approval after not one, but two head to toe inspections. It was dark outside, the shadows turning his dark brown hair to the colour of midnight. His olive skin looked paler in the moonlight, his thick lashes darker, his grin all the more unsettling. "But you never fail to disappoint."

It seemed that whenever I reached a point of almost complete happiness something came to rain on my parade; an event came to dampen my morale and ultimately drag me back to the gutter - the place where I was before Parker Heywood came and spiced things up. So I couldn't help but do nothing besides stare at Jason Ashford. In a weird way, I wasn't even shocked about the sudden turn in events. After all, when did anything truly go according to plan? God forbid that ever happen. Maybe this was the point where I accepted that when it came down to it, the bad had to outweigh the good when it came to me. I'd accepted it before Parker came along to raise my hopes, so I just had to get used to my old mind set again.

The pity party I was hosting in my head came to an abrupt end when Jason brushed past my frozen form and stalked into my home in a familiar Heywood fashion. The only difference was this trespassing wasn't exactly a welcomed one.

"What are you doing? Get out."

Jason glanced back at me once he reached the doorframe leading to the kitchen and gestured for me to follow. Numbly, I obliged. What else was I to do? I wouldn't touch the guy with a ten foot bargepole, never mind getting all up in his grill, close and personal, to drag him out of the threshold. So I was alright touching Parker now, but Jason? Did I even need to grant that question with an answer?

"Why do you like Parker?" Jason was leaning against the worktop, his elbows almost ninety degree angles as he braced himself with his hands gripping the counters edge. "You know he's a drug dealer, right?"

"Why are you in my house?" I demanded, trying to keep my cool.

He trailed a finger through some spilt flour next to him (the perks of having a messy baker of a mother) and traced some kind of pattern. "I saw you first."

"Sorry?"

Every hair on my body felt as though it stood on end. Since the moment he'd pinned me against that locker those years ago I'd never felt safe near that boy. My body reacted in much the same way it did to touch when it was near him. The discomfort, my muscles tensing in the overwhelming urge to run away or lash out to protect myself, the skin crawling feeling that demanded my attention to alert me of danger.

"I said," He sighed, abandoning the flour as he strode toward me. I hurriedly skirted around the kitchen island which resulted in us swapping places, still on opposite sides of the room. He continued, "I saw you first. Not Parker. Not anybody else in school. Me."

"I don't see what that really has to do with anything," My palms were sweating buckets and I nervously wiped them on my thighs. It wouldn't be long before Skylar's skillfully applied face art melted away with the rest of my few unfrazzled nerves. When some people were nervous they chewed their nails - when I was nervous I apparently gave marathon runners' sweaty bodies a run for their money (no pun intended). Cue the nervous rambling, "But if we're going into technicalities then I'd have to point out that the first person to see me would have been the midwife at Saint-"

"Saint Martha's hospice where you were born. I know, no need to be difficult."

I looked nervously between Jason and the clock on the wall behind his head. He'd arrived five minutes ago, bang on the dot of when Parker said he'd pick me up. If I'd had any idea that I'd be expecting another visitor then I'd have known when I opened the door not to expect my date. Of course Parker wouldn't be on time. He had to keep himself under the impression he was still this detached badass who was too cool for anyone or anything. But this so wasn't the day for Parker to be fashionably late.

"How did you know that?"

He took a step forward. "I know everything about you, Flora. Don't you know why I'm here? Back in town?"

"Back in town? Not a clue. Why you're in my house right now?" I took a step back as he took another forward. "You seem to like creeping me out."

He laughed. "The only reason I came back to town after my parents shipped me off to that shitty recovery place was to retrieve the one thing I couldn't get before my departure. I had money, I had drugs, I had my group of friends, I had popularity... But did I get the girl I wanted? No. So I'm here to take you some place nice, show you that I'm better. Just let me prove it to you, yeah? We'll have a nice talk."

The way he kept trying to advance put me in mind of Cobra rearing its head up, intimidating it's prey whilst readying itself to strike. I'd seen enough films to know when the villain said stuff like that you either had to get out of there fast or call for help. Since I could do neither I was going to have to leave a trail of bread crumbs, some kind of clue. Fantastic. The question was how.

"Where would we go?" I asked in the hopes of stalling whilst I thought.

His eyes seemed to glitter in the fluorescent light of the kitchen at my sudden cooperation. I glanced away from the intensity of his gaze and spied the spilt flour by my side. With shaky fingers I began to write in it, shielding what I was doing with my body and returning my gaze to Jason. It just needed to be one word, one name. It was ridiculously hard not being able to look at what I was doing, but it was the best I could think of when under pressure.

"Now that would be telling." He took another step toward me and I bolted.

I succeed in knocking over a left over bowl of cereal in the process and I heard it smash behind me, undoubtedly spilling the remnants of milk and soggy Lucky Charms in my wake. I was a few steps from the front door when something snagged the back of my shirt and reeled me backward. Oakwood floor met my face with a slap as I stumbled and fell. It didn't stop the hands that were now at my ankles from dragging me away from the exit that was just out of reach.

"Get off me!" I yelled. My fingers squeaked over the flooring as I tried in vane to grab hold of something to keep Jason from taking me away from freedom. As I passed the door of the kitchen again, I latched onto its frame. "What the hell do you want from me? Let go! Stop touching-"

"Calm down," He hushed me, his voice taking on an alarming soothing edge.

His hands gripped me around the waist before swiftly tossing me over his shoulder. I writhed, not caring that tears were streaming down my face like miniature waterfalls. My kicking did nothing to lessen his tight grip but did wonders with knocking off framed pictures that hung upon the hallway walls and something else that made a loud thud when it hit the floor. I wasn't in the best position to be making an internal catalogue of the beloved objects I was destroying.

Jason heaved a loud sigh and rather unceremoniously dropped me to the ground. "I didn't want to do this, honey, but you've given me no other choice."

"Don't call me honey. Only Parker-" One moment Jason's fist had reared back, the next it had made contact with my face. For a fraction of a second the world seemed to have tipped sideways and there was a severe lack of oxygen, but then it all faded away. Everything turned a little hazy at the corners as the hands resumed their position on my waist and darkness took over my vision.

I let my body sag against the back I was draped over and blacked out.

***

When I awakened it wasn't to the chirping of birds outside of my bedroom window or the screeching voice of my mother telling me that I'd slept half of the day away, but to the faint hum of a television nearby. There wasn't a mattress beneath my body or a blanket to shield me from the chilly draft I could feel raising goose pimples on the bare flesh of my arms. What I was laying on felt like a lumpy old couch. Acutely aware that I was in unknown territory, I decided against opening my eyes until I was positive I was the only person in the room. After another couple of minutes, I deemed it safe enough to tentatively crack open one lid.

Disorientated and sore, I pulled myself into a sitting position. My limbs screamed in protest as I swung my legs around for my feet to meet the floor and stretched my arms until my shoulder blades popped. Everything felt incredibly stiff as though I hadn't used them for quite some time, and when my eyes found the clock that they sought, that turned out to be the truth. If the time was correct then it happened to be half past four in the morning. Not only would my mother have been home hours previously, but my date with Parker would have been eight and a half hours ago.

Save from the clock and a small benign print of the seaside, the walls were scarecly decorated. Lilac paint peeled from them and the rug beneath the small coffee table in the room's centre was threadbare. The place reeked of dampness but since there were no windows to open, the smell was trapped just as I was, the only escape being the door which neither of us seemed willing to slither out of. The small television in front of the discoloured mustard sofa I sat on was playing The Bachelor, one of my favourite shows. For some reason it made my entire situation feel worse. Was it just an eerie coincidence that it was playing by my bedside or... Not?

Just as I was eyeing up the door, it flung itself wide open. Its wooden frame hit the wall and the seaside landscape shook as Jason strolled in carrying a tray of food. He placed it down on the table before me and I cautiously peered into the creamy looking contents of a bowl.

"Chicken soup." He answered my unspoken question with a dazzling smile.

"Are you going to assassinate me?" I asked as I tried to work out the distance between myself and the door. Preoccupied with wondering how many horizontal Flora's I was from the exit and whether forward rolling would be the best strategy to catch Jason off guard and flee, I almost missed the blessed vibrating of my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. I must have squirmed a little, for he sent a questioning look in my direction to which I explained, "My pants often try to run away from my body, I just have to make sure they know their place and stay put."

Jason blinked. "I see."

There was a long, painful pause as he watched me move around awkwardly on the spot in the hopes of butt dialling, but I'd never exactly had talent in the art of skilful hip swivelling and so had no idea whether I'd even pressed a button. Belatedly I remembered it was a touch screen phone that I owned and it was clad in a case that you had to pop open. I cursed under my breath.

"Soup," He repeated, pushing the bowl as close to me as it could go without teetering off the edge of the tray. He waited - and waited - and when the message finally sank in that I wasn't about to touch the meal he'd served, he leaned back against the wall and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his chinos.

The silence seemed to stretch on for an unmeasurable length of time and I cracked under its heavy weight, asking the question that's answer I already had a sneaking suspicion I knew. "Why is The Bachelor on?"

He quirked his eyebrow up like it was obvious. "Because it's your favourite."

"Splendid," I said, wondering if there was enough space in the vase of petunias I'd spotted on a shelf in the corner to hold all of my vomit. "In that case, could you also explain why I'm here if not to be murdered?"

"I told you earlier," He blew a ring of smoke from his lips. Parker could do that and I idly wondered whether Jason had taught him or vice versa. "I brought you to this place to explain why I'm better for you than Parker. Why we're destined to be."