This story has been rewritten, please let me know if I should continue or if you have any comments or constructive criticisms, with a review.
Kimberley Connweller
I slammed the car door. First day of the semester was TOMORROW, it's 2am, it's freezing cold and pouring down and he pulls this shit!
In Forks no less!
"Heyy Chief, I'm so sorry." I said with a resigned tone as Charlie looked up at me from his desk.
He smiled sympathetically. Charlie Swan was a man of few words and great moustache. He always called me now, ever since the first time he'd tried her number and been greeted with her usual callous response when referring to her son. I was the one he told Charlie to call, even in his ridiculous, drunk, trouble-causing state. Charlie learned, that first night, that handling him was a lot easier when I was involved.
"Is he sober yet?" I asked, signing the last of his release forms.
Charlie shrugged. "He's not singing anymore." Well, there's a bonus, I guess.
"Thank you, Charlie." I kissed his cheek, politely ignored his blush, and walked down the row of temp. cells.
"Joseph Ryder!" I bellowed, hoping he had a headache.
"Connie? Oh shit babe! I'm so sorry!" Joe's voice cried out from cell 3 as Charlie overtook me with a monstrous bunch of keys.
The huge, almost comically thick, white door slowly swung open and there stood my best friend, shirt torn, eye swollen.
"C'mon you fucking idiot! Thanks Chief." I smiled at Charlie and turned to leave.
"Okay, so I know it's first day back tomorrow." He murmured, picking up my hand and playing sheepishly with my fingers "but I didn't mean to get arrested!" I snorted, in spite of myself and reapplied my faux-stern expression.
"Don't worry about it. Let's go to bed."
"Don't you want to know what happened?" He asked, frowning down at me.
"It's 2am Joe, I don't give a shit what happened. Get in the car." He dropped my hand but continued to scowl down at his feet.
I waited as he folded his ridiculous frame into my tiny car, reminding me of the stick insect from A Bug's Life. I leant against his door for a second, wondered why the fuck I put up with him, and then walked around to the driver's side, resigning myself to the fact that I'd probably never have an answer to that question and knowing in my heart that I'd never need one.
Jared Cameron
I don't know how to explain it. I don't know what it is that makes my blood boil, I don't know why I want to pull my hair out when I see her, I don't know how many times a day I glare holes in the back of her head, I don't know why the sight of her makes my teeth grind or my fists clench, I don't know why I spend 90% of my time making lists about one thing:
Kim "Get out of my head" Connweller.
They hadn't always been bad lists, I used to be a lovely happy boy!
But spending ten years staring at a person from afar, who refuses to acknowledge your existence can make a man bitter, y'know?!
I mean, I made so many lists!
It all started when I was 6. We had to do a presentation in class about our favourite thing and that's what had started the whole list-writing craze.
My presentation didn't go well, and I'd had trouble getting over the memory. I was pretty sure I'd twisted it in my head until it became a lot worse than the reality but nevertheless, I'd grown to cringe and flinch at the thought of it.
At the thought of her.
Stupid, irritating, gorgeous, annoying, Kim Connweller.