The world was spinning when I looked up.

"Dude, oh my god, oh shit..." someone was babbling. I looked up to see a guy opening the door to my car. "Fuck, dude, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled, almost instinctively.

I pushed the guy away and struggled to get up and assess myself for injury. The jolting stop of the car had caused my seatbelt to rub hard against my skin, and my neck hurt a little from slamming forward, but I seemed alright. I wasn't sure I could say the same for my car. Oh god, my car.

My baby.

I undid the seatbelt and clambered out, hoping there wouldn't be any broken glass for me to step on. The bumper, thank god, was still hanging on. My left headlight was completely smashed and the fender was dented horrifically. I let out a weary sigh. Great.

The guy who'd opened the door grabbed my shoulder. "You don't look so good, dude," he said, but I wasn't looking at him. I was looking at the slowly opening door of the car that had hit me.

"No," I mumbled aloud. I blinked. No fucking way. Out of the matte black Ford Fusion stepped the man I hated more than any one else on the planet. "No, no, no, no. Come on."

"W-What?" the guy said, letting go of me. "Oh." I looked at him and watched as he slowly backed up like a dangerous animal was approaching.

Michael made his way over. "Oh shit, it's you. Benjamin, hello," he said casually.

"Yeah, it's me." My voice was embarrassingly shaky. I was so pissed off I wanted to break his stupid neck right then and there. "What the fuck?"

"Listen, I didn't mean- I was just trying to get-" he started. "Our spots are right next to each other, it was just bad timing, you coming in, me backing out. I'm so sorry."

I stared in disbelief at the dumbfounded expression on his face, then down at my vehicle. "Sorry?" I shouted at him. "Do you not see this? What you just did? This is my fucking car!"

"Yeah," he said, "I assumed that since you're the one driving it."

I shuddered. No, no, I thought. I am not letting you make me look stupid. "You're gonna pay for this," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Now you're threatening me. Cool."

"I mean you're gonna pay. Literally," I clarified. "The headlight's fucked and look at the bumper. Shouldn't be a problem, right? Since you're so rich?"

"Oh, of course," he said with a dismissive scoff. "Don't worry, sweetie, I got it. Not a big deal."

"Not a- not a big deal?" I yelled. "So you just... you just do this shit all the time, huh? Fucking crash into people and then, oh, yeah, I got it. And... what did you just call me?"

He blinked. "It's really not that big of a deal, you should calm down."

I tried to respond, but my voice just sort of came out as an unintelligible squeak. "You- that-"

"What? Do you want me to buy you a new one?" he said sarcastically.

"You know what?" I said. "I fucking hate you!" Someone in the crowd held up a cell phone. "I can't live with you for a year, it has been one day and I cannot fucking stand you! Your fucking face with that smirk makes me wanna kill you, you fucking-"

I broke off into a high-pitched sob.

Now two people were recording. I didn't know what to do. I knew I shouldn't leave my car, but all I wanted to do was run away.

Michael made his way over as more cell phones appeared. "Come on," he said, his voice low. Stern, but somehow soft at the same time. I looked up at him, my whole body trembling, as he touched a hand to my shoulder blades and led me away from the crowd.

Once we had reached a small patch of grass by the front doors, my breathing evened out.

"I'm sorry I hit your car," Michael said quietly. "Really. I'm sorry. I will pay for all the damages. I mean that."

A crafty smile grew on my lips. There were already plenty of dents along the front from when I rammed it into countless things. Trees. Other cars. I wondered how many I could blame on him.

The idea filled me with joy.

"Alright," I murmured. "Alright." Was I overreacting? Was it really not a big deal? Or was this guy just messing with my head again? "I'm gonna-" I gestured towards the door. "I'm gonna go in."

It probably was not the best move. I was leaving the scene of an accident, technically. I paused when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned back, my hand on the door of the building. Michael was right behind me.

"Um, why are you following me?" I said, defensive again.

Michael blinked a couple of times. "I live here too, in case you forgot."

"Just leave me alone," I said, ripping open the door. "You're, like, the last person I want to see, talk to, think about right now." He maybe even trumped my father.

"Damn," he said, proceeding to enter the building after me.

I scrubbed at my face, trying to wipe away the single hot tear that coursed down the side of my nose. "Why don't you just... go do whatever you were in such a hurry to go do, huh?" I didn't think I could take it if I had to lie in that dark room with him there.

He chewed on his lip. "Come with me," he said suddenly.

I stayed put. "Where?" I demanded, then realized I was asking the wrong question. "Why?"

"Just... c'mere." He started walking off to his left and though every part of me screamed just go upstairs and lock him out, there was another part, something I didn't yet understand, that made me follow him.

He led me to this big blue door next to the in-house laundromat and down a few carpeted steps into a room that smelled like machinery and sweat. I jumped as the heavy door behind me slammed shut loudly and the next-to-nothing light suddenly became none. "I'm gonna die here, aren't I?" I asked. "You're taking me here to kill me."

"Nah," he said. He flicked on the light and I could see a bunch of exercise equipment. The gym. Of course he took me to the gym. I wondered if he'd jump onto the pull-up bar and start showing off. Next one would be installed over our bathroom door.

"Listen, I'm kinda drunk..." I said, biting my lip. "I don't feel very good."

"Sit down," he said.

I reluctantly took a seat next to him on the third to last step. "What do you want?" I mumbled quietly. I felt like such a child.

"I figured we could talk here without all those little snakes lurking and looking for the next thing to gossip about," he told me with a small smile. "You know, Michael D'Angelo wrecks poor kid's car and drives away laughing 'cuz he's a heartless bastard."

I crossed my arms around myself and moved my leg over so it couldn't touch his. "Are you?" I asked. "A heartless bastard?"

"So some say," he shrugged. He looked at me, his eyes big. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," I snapped. I suppose it wasn't, I mean I could have been seriously hurt, but I didn't want to have this conversation. I didn't want to have any conversations with him. I despised the guy.

He pressed his lips together. "In any matter," he said tentatively, "I think I owe you a more formal apology. I was on the phone with my girlfriend, and I was... I was fighting with her, and I didn't even look to see if there were any other cars around. I'm really sorry and I'm glad it wasn't any worse. I really hope you can forgive me because, you know, like you said, we have to live together. This is me, like... trying to not be mean."

"Well, I think I'll stay hating you for a while," I said. "If I didn't it'd be weird. You'd think you could just do whatever you wanted to me."

"Hmm," he said. "That is a predicament, isn't it? What would make you not hate me?"

"Nothing," I said. "I hate you so much, I..." I trailed off, looking at his eyes.

I realized I'd never actually been this close to him before. Not even when he jumped onto my bed within hours of meeting him. His eyes were really nice, soft and big, and even that once creepy paleness just sort of looked... I don't know. Pretty.

"I guess I don't really," I said, my voice ghostly.

He smiled again. "Good," he whispered, leaning towards me just slightly. I looked down as he placed his hand on the step a millimeter from my thigh.

I narrowed my eyes. "What is it with you? You tryna kiss me or something?"

He cocked his head to one side, looking at me strangely. "I, uh... don't think so," he said. "I suppose I could, if you really wanted me to."

I froze up, panic rushing through me like a tidal wave. "No, no," I said quickly. "I-I... no. I thought you were like- you know, you were doing that thing and-"

"What thing?"

I gulped. "The like, lean-in, staring-at-me thing."

He nodded slowly. "Ah. That thing. Right. Well, I should probably get going if things are chill between us. Kitty's all mad at me because she thinks I've been out with some girl Lisa, and yeah, I probably shouldn't have said 'which Lisa?', but hey, it's a common name. Anyway."

"Anyway," I repeated as he stood up, leaving me sitting there. I looked at the ground, still quivering in embarrassment. "Good-" I stopped as he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. I jolted up.

"There's your kiss," he murmured. His fingertips raked my scalp and I felt a shiver I hadn't experienced in a long time rip through my body. "Wow, it's softer than I thought."

"Than you thought?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, ever since the moment I saw you all I thought about was this lovely luscious fluffy hair of yours. And you have Bambi eyes." I thought about Bambi. Small, weak, couldn't walk very well, dead mother. Perfect.

I got up clumsily, almost bumping into him in the process. "Um," I said. "Excuse-" Before I could even comprehend what he was doing, he had grabbed both my sides and pulled me against him so we were in some kind of uncomfortable, extremely close embrace. "What-" I started again.

He drew his lips into a smirk, and then titled his head and planted them fully on mine. I was too shocked to jump away. I just stood there and let him kiss me, my arms hanging uselessly at my side, and then I shuddered and closed my eyes, completely frozen.

"You kiss like a girl," he commented.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Ever kissed a girl?" he said.

"Yes!" I shouted defensively. Which was incredibly loud, given the tiny space we were in.

"Okay, okay," he whispered, smirking again. "Ever kissed a man?"

I said nothing, biting down hard on my lower lip. I wasn't sure which option would be worse: to lie and say I had, in fact, done such a thing, and then perhaps this wouldn't be such a big deal, or to admit that he now had left some kind of mark in my loss of purity. "No," I murmured quietly.

"Hmm," he mused.

"Shut up." I grabbed his shirt and pushed him so he slammed against the wall. "The fuck did you do that for? Is this one of your psychotic jokes?"

"Look at you, all feisty again," he said. "I like when you're mad."

I stopped, suddenly realizing what I was doing, and backed up, letting go of him. "I think you should go now."

He reached forward and gave my hair another run-through with his hand, then turned to go back up the stairs. "See ya," he said. He smiled. "Tomorrow."

Don't remind me.

He left me there, shaking for a long time even after he was gone. I suddenly felt mad again, but I couldn't tell why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact I'd let him hit my car, drag me down here, and somehow get the better of me once again.

Perhaps, I speculated, he wanted to piss me off so I would punch him, and then he could beat me up in self-defense.

I used my phone to light the way back to my room while furiously texting Sarah, but she didn't answer. Probably passed out. My suitcase - the one he had made fun of - was still on the floor, and I kicked it.

Was it stupid to throw a tantrum? Yes.

Did it make me feel better? Well, no, not really. But did I still want to do it? Yes.

I picked up the bag and hurled it.

Finally I laid down in bed, but for some reason I just felt more upset. When I was sad at home, I would rest my head on one pillow and hug the other one. Apparently, I hadn't thought about this while packing, because I'd only brought one pillow. Maybe I'd been in too good of a mood to remember how I'd inevitably get back into this state again.

If I'd been thinking properly, I would have never in a thousand years done what I was about to do. But yet, somehow I convinced myself that it was okay.

It was okay to get up and walk over to Michael's bed. To snatch up his pillow and carry it back, cradled to my chest. To smell his shampoo and aftershave and sweat and bury my face in it all.

I closed my eyes and pretended, pretended I wasn't alone, pretended I wasn't spending one more night in this stupid little room in this stupid little bed, in the dark, in the quiet, where the only thing around was all the monsters in my head that were about to eat me alive.