The first thing that caught my eye as I passed the kitchen on my way to the shower was a huge blob of pink. The second was my roommate getting a beer from his fridge, his back turned to me. His shirtless back, to be more specific. I could see all his lovely back muscles.

Even if his personality was shit, man, was Michael hot.

I peeked into the kitchen and squinted at the vase of roses sitting on the counter, literally something straight out of a cheesy Valentine's Day movie. "What the fuck is this?" I said. "And would it kill you to wear clothes, ever?"

Michael straightened up and turned, unalarmed, holding the beer loosely in his hand. He had a tattoo of an eagle on the right side of his chest that spanned from his shoulder across half his collarbone. His pecs were big and defined, of course. Don't let me get started on those abs.

"Why?" he said. "Is it turning you on?"

"I- God, you're starting this shit already?" I muttered. "I just woke up. Give me a break."

He smiled deeply. "I know when someone's checking me out. You were checking me out."

"I was not," I snapped. "So... who's this for, girlfriend number twenty-five?"

He closed the minifridge and looked as if he was wondering what I was referring to. There were just so many rose bouquets to choose from, right? "Kitty," he said. "I believe you've met. I'm trying to win her back. She appreciates gestures such as these." He tilted his head. "Think it'll work?"

"Not if she had half a brain," I answered. "So yeah, probably."

Michael frowned. "Kitty isn't very smart, I'll give you that. But I never said I was dating her for her intelligent remarks."

I shook my head. "So just her body. Well, that's great."

He shrugged hopelessly in response, his expression still one of confusion. He walked over and pulled a single flower from the group. "If you were Kitty and I got you all these flowers, would you forgive me for fucking someone else?" He kept his eyes on the flower, spinning it around in his hand, waiting for my response.

I stared at him, leaning against the counter, his baffled look somehow almost strangely innocent, like he genuinely didn't know why his girlfriend was mad at him. I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not much for relationship advice," I said. "But uh... no. You'd just do it again. People don't change."

He raised one eyebrow, still looking at the rose. "They can if they want to," he said. His eyes traveled up to mine, his sly smirk making its reappearance. "Don't tell anyone, but I don't want to."

I shifted backward, suddenly uncomfortable. His gaze on me was burning; I felt like I was under a microscope. Like he was a scientist conducting an experiment. "Give her the flowers then," I said, lifting my chin. "Then cheat on her again, and start over. See where that gets you."

He frowned, considering. "You're smarter than you look. I like you," he said decidedly.

"What a privilege," I sneered.

He furrowed his brow at the rose, then offered it to me. "I don't think she'll miss this one," he said, extending his arm in my direction. It was almost sweet.

I forced out a laugh. "Uh, no thanks," I said. "I have to go."

Michael shrugged and laid the rose on the edge of the table. "In case you change your mind," he said. Like I would take that thing.

"I won't, don't worry," I scoffed, making a beeline around the counter for the door. "Flowers don't exactly win me over."

He very deliberately stood in my way, leaning against the doorframe. "What does? I'd like to know."

I had to lift my head to glare into his eyes, which really didn't make me feel good about my height. I wondered if he had that effect on everyone - making them feel small, weak, inferior.

"Can you get out of the way?" I huffed. "I'm going to be late to class."

He raised his hands in surrender and stepped half an inch to the side.

I pushed past him, grumbling to myself, and my arm knocked against his. Just from that brief contact, I felt a buzz rip through me, like I'd been electrocuted. Not good.

Not good at all.

She was kissing me.

Arms around my neck, pushing me against the wall, her lips locked to mine. "I hate you," she whispered, her high-pitched voice eerie against my ear. "But you're so fucking addictive."

I wrapped my hand around her throat, pulling her away from me so I could look at her. She gasped and struggled a little, then hardened her gaze and stared up at me with an almost defiant glare. "You wanna know what I think? I think you love it," I breathed, tracing my fingertip down her neck.

"I think you should get back to apologizing," she retorted.

"Come look what I got for you," I said carefully, taking her hand instead. She let me lead her into the kitchen and I studied her, the bright smile plastered across her face. It creeped me out a bit. I quickly picked up the flower lying on the table and handed it to her as she stood, staring at the bouquet.

"Aww, Michael, they're so beautiful," she cooed, tangling her arms around my waist. "C'mere, gimme a kiss." I leaned down to reach her mouth, which would have been halfway down my arm if we were standing side-by-side. "I love you," she whispered, and kissed me again, much more lustfully now. "I love you."

"I thought you hated me."

"I love you," she said. "Don't you ever leave me again."

"Can't promise anything."

She pouted, running her knuckles along my jaw. "This is why I can't stand you," she hissed. "Why can't you just be mine?"

"I'll never be anyone's," I said stiffly.

She narrowed her eyes. "We'll see," she murmured. She jumped up and gripped my waist with her legs as we continued kissing, so that we were the same height. She grabbed my face, maybe to force it back to hers, and her nails dug into my skin. "You're mine," she insisted. "I'm yours."

"No," I snapped, wrenching her wrists away. She frowned. "I just... I don't know. You're so intense. It's... it's... god. I need to breathe."

I sat her on the counter, a fair distance from the roses, and she leaned back, her eyes meeting mine steadily. "You like intense," she whispered. "Don't you?" Understanding flashed between us, and I smirked. "And I still can't stand you," she told me.

I slithered my hand up her scalp, gripping her fried hair. "Good. I can't stand you either," I shot back in the breaks between our kisses, rough enough to bruise lips.

"I don't want you to stand me," she purred, her eyes only little sly slits she peeked out from, her voice deep and sultry. "I want you to... fuck me."

Alright, I thought. It's only taken her about five minutes to get here. That's a new record.

I closed my eyes for just a split second, then tightened my grip on her waist, my breathing picking up. "You know, Kitty, I did want to see you for more than make-up sex," I said as she started unbuttoning my shirt. I rested my fingers over hers, her soft hands on my newly bare skin. "Darling?"

She didn't look up. "Oh?" she asked innocently. "But can't that be part of it?" I watched her, yanking her yellow tube top over her head with an urgency that disturbed me. "Your little roomie isn't going to show up again, is he?"

"Why would you bring him up?"

She narrowed her eyes, her smile sly. "Jealous?" she teased. "Think I'm gonna come over and bang him while you're out sometime?"

"No," I said as I reached behind her to unclip her bra. "He doesn't like your meow-meow." I pressed my lips to hers to conceal my smile while she let the straps slip off her shoulders, revealing her pale breasts. My lips twitched into another smirk as I cupped them, running my thumb over her skin. "These are nice."

"I know," she said.

I moved from her mouth to her neck, leaving a trail of sucking kisses from her throat along her collarbone. She sighed and pushed my head down lower, strands of her hair falling in my face as she watched me circle around her hardened nipple with my tongue, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

I sucked on her skin, pulling it into my mouth and clamping down my teeth ever so gently. She moaned and I pulled away, admiring the red mark I'd left on her before closing my mouth down again, my hand running down her tight stomach to the waistband of her shorts. I unbuttoned them blindly, and then her hand was over mine, tugging down the zipper and pushing them down her hips. I slid my fingers past her underwear and between her legs, turning in slow circles.

We never spoke. Her hands snaked around my neck to my back, digging into my skin as my fingers circled faster and faster, finding her entrance and jutting in and out. With every thrust of my hand she moaned louder, raking her nails across my shoulder blades. She kissed my neck, pushing her lower body closer to me, wrapping tighter around me.

"Fuck, I want you so bad," she drawled sloppily into my ear. "In me. I want you inside me."

"Yeah, you're not so tough now, are you?" I whispered, and her eyes flashed. Her hands were on me now too, pulling me out of my jeans, her lips kissing across my jaw. I jerked my wet hand aggressively up and down my length and guided it down her folds.

"Now," she said. She rested her hand over mine, the other spreading herself wider. "I want it now." She leaned back on the counter, opening her legs, and I slowly eased myself inside her while she hissed softly.

I grabbed her waist and pushed her so she was lying down, her breath leaving her fast, and gripped her by her hips as I began thrusting into her.

Her legs gripped me on either side, hanging in the air and rocking with our movement. I leaned forward and kissed down her collarbone, between her breasts.

What we were doing, I thought, was just an act. I knew because when I looked up at her, lifting my face from her body, she deliberately flicked her eyes away. Maybe she thought I wouldn't notice. I lowered my eyes again, kissed her chest, and pretended I hadn't. She clung to me, her claws sinking into me.

"Stop," I said, flinching away. She ignored me and scratched deep, so that I gripped her wrists and slammed them down on the counter on either side of her. "I said stop doing that," I growled at her, and her eyes widened in something like fear.

I slammed into her harder, making her scream. I waited for her to say something, tell me to ease up, but she never did.

And so I held onto her and fucked her until I came, and then I got off and walked away, trying to ignore her strangled pants as she laid there.

╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

I opened the bathroom door, my hair dripping with water from my shower, and walked over to my bed where Kitty was sprawled, the side of her face resting on her arms. I assumed she did this in place of a pillow, which was currently over in Ben's bed. She was wearing her shorts again, tight on her ass, the lower half of her cheeks spilling out. God, I could do her again, I thought.

She shifted, acknowledging me, and sat up, her hips rocking out. It was likely because I was too busy watching them that it took me a second to see what she was holding in her hand, looking down at with a scowl of disgust.

My phone.

"Kitty," I said calmly, stopping in front of her. "What are you doing?"

She rose slowly, taking her time, her cold eyes on me. "You got a little text while I sitting here," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. She turned the screen slowly to show me, and my heart sank. Of course she'd do something like this. I should have known.

"Kitty-" I started, but she cut me off.

"From, uh, Megan? That name ring any bells?" she went on. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. "So I decided to look and see what the bitch had to say. Better book her a good hour or two in your very busy schedule. Turns out it wasn't just her you been fuck appointment with, is it? It's Jess, and Lauren and..." Every name felt like a stab to my chest. "And Dominic? You're fucking a guy, Michael?" She looked me up and down. "You make me sick," she spat.

"I just bought you flowers, dammit!" I shouted at her. "I wanted to say I was sorry, I was ready to... to commit-" I ran my hands through my hair, shaking. This could be it, I thought. This could really be it.

"The flowers are bullshit, Michael!" she screamed, shoving past me. "Just like every fucking word that ever left your mouth. I know you don't love me, you never have. You'll never love anyone, anything. You're sick." Maybe I didn't love her, but she was now one less person I could call mine. And that hurt. "See, the thing is I loved you so fucking much and you never cared. I tried so hard..."

No, you didn't, I thought. You didn't try. You didn't love me either. You loved what I did for you.

She turned and stormed into the kitchen, leaving me cold. I followed her, walking in what felt like slow motion. My feet felt numb falling heavily on the floor. I reached the doorway just in time to hear the crash, shattering and stilling. I stopped, thinking at first she'd fallen. Then I saw the vase, broken into large pieces on the floor, flowers flowing out on the water all over the floor.

"Kitty, what the fuck!" I shouted, pulling her away from the counter forcefully. I turned her towards me in my arms and squinted at her, pushing her against the wall. "You lost your fucking mind?"

She smirked, a twisted pain in her watery eyes. "What are you gonna do, you bitch?" she breathed, staring up at me with nothing short of pure hatred. "Hit me? Wouldn't be the first fucking time."

I stepped back, my hands dropping from their grip on her arms. "No," I said.

She shoved me back, hard. "You don't care, whatever. You don't care about anything on this planet. That's why you're like this, isn't it? That's why you're going out and fucking all these people?" She wanted to hurt me, I could tell. I said nothing. "You're always so lonely, because you can't feel anything. I suppose I should feel sorry for you. But then I think about you saying you love me."

"You've just got it all figured out, have you?" I said.

She stared at me. "Yes," she said confidently.

I laughed. "Alright, alright. If you knew, why'd you still fuck me?"

She shook her head, a scoff escaping her lips. "I guess because I'm like you that way." She smirked. "Why don't you can take back your roses, and save them for the next girl that you pull in with your sweet talk, and then you can use her until she's as dried up and lifeless as these stupid fucking flowers." She looked down, took the single flower from the counter and snapped it in half, staring at me. "And why don't you take this one and shove it up your fucking ass, Michael. Since you seem to like that."

She smashed it against my chest, the petals sticking to my t-shirt. I watched it fall to the floor, this sad, broken thing she'd called beautiful such a short time ago.

She walked past me out of the kitchen, and a weight settled over me as I realized this time she probably wasn't coming back. Maybe I owed her enough not to try to get her back. Could I even, if I tried? She was right, about everything. I was always lonely. I never felt anything. Except now. I felt pain now.

"How long?" called after her. She stopped. "How long?" I repeated. "An hour? A day? Till you come crawling back."

"You wait and see if I ever come back, Michael D'Angelo," she whispered. There was a certain dignity in this. I almost had some respect for her. I slowly picked the petals off and let them go, letting them drift to the floor as I waited for her to leave.

When I heard the door slam and then the deadly quiet that followed, I bent and picked up the broken vase, careful not to slice open my hands on the glass, and threw them away. I walked noiselessly from the kitchen and took a seat on my bed. I would not be hurt by this. So, she was gone. But like she said, I had other options. I'd replace her. I'd get over her. She really wasn't so special.

It was not the fight, however, that was haunting me. It was her words. The truth to them. I'd never slowed down enough to realize how alone I was, and perhaps always would be. Am I really incapable of love? I thought. Is that what I'm doing - trying to fill some void I can't? Surely it couldn't be.

I reached for my phone, left on my bed from when Kitty had dropped it, and looked at the screen, still open to my text conversation with Meg. I should never talk to her again. I should block her right now and forget her for what she was: what ruined my real relationship.

Instead, I began typing.