Brian stayed in place. He listened to the door shut, and then he crouched in the middle of his room, balled his fists over his head, and yelled, “Fuuuuuuuuccck!” as loud as his lungs and throat could manage. That’s where he remained as the clock ticked one, two, ten minutes later. He rubbed his eyes. Never in his life had he met someone so hell-bent on seeing enemies everywhere. Valerie was separated from his reality, or he was separated from hers. Whatever.

The truth was that she didn’t get him. She saw aggression in everything, resentment and overreaction and judgment in everything. He wasn’t allowed to feel a damn thing. Well, he felt a lot. Valerie could’ve taken one hard look at Brian the day they met and known that.

He stood up and started walking. Grabbed his leather jacket, his keys and wallet, and a stake (he wasn’t making that mistake twice). He slammed the door, left the apartment building, and started walking. A water main burst in his wake.

Love.

What a joke.