A/N: I'll make this short but I wrote this at 5 am the day before my extra credit narrative was due for this movie... so basically don't be to omean to me if it sucks. Let me know you what you think maybe?

*This is written in Will's point of view

I lazily tossed over in my piece of cardboard bed, being mocked by the neon red of the clock that sat on top of a case of Heinekens. Day would break in a couple of hours and I couldn't sleep at all. I thought about everything. Everything that ever happened came flying at full fucking speed in my mind. I thought about how those motherfuckers left me in an orphanage, left me to fend for myself against stronger assholes with wrenches.

I hated them. I hated almost everybody. I thought about Chuckie and I thought about how I almost hated him too. He called me out on my shit the other day. I mean, damn, that prick knows just what to say to hit you in the fucking balls.

'Fuck you, you don't owe it to yourself man, you owe it to me. Cuz tomorrow I'm gonna wake up and I'll be 50, and I'll still be doin' this shit... you're sittin' on a winnin' lottery ticket... It'd be an insult to us if you're still here in 20 years. Hangin' around here is a fuckin' waste of your time.'

It didn't stop.

It kept echoing in my head over and over again. I'm sick of hearing how I owed it to myself to be successful but Chuck didn't fall into that bullshit. He told me straight up if I didn't do it for him, he would kill me. I smiled at the memory of him tossing his cigarette aside, saying "and that's not a threat, that's a fucking fact". He was was one of the most heartfelt, pathetic bastards I ever met, he was, but he was right. As much as I hated giving that imbecile any form of a compliment, I have to admit he was clever, the idiot. After sitting in a fucking hell hole, he was the first asshole to pull me out and give me a fucking life. He was my best friend and I did owe it to him.

I thought about the professor. He set up another meeting at some big-name corporation for me again. It was either go to this one or slum up the rest of my life at that shit construction site. I figured I'd go, maybe fuck it up just to piss him off. I don't owe him anything anyway. He thinks I owe him; he acts like I should be grateful that he "challenges" with kindergarten equations as a probation. To be exceedingly honest, I'd rather rot in jail. I hate how he fucking pushes me like he thinks his fucking equations are a gift to me. I could do that shit in my sleep and yeah, it might be a gift to the average idiot but to me it's a joke. I don't want what he wants. I don't want to spend the next 50 years doing long divisions for a corrupt corporation anyway, so fuck him.

I thought about Sean. Sean was different. I broke down today in front of him. He told me about his abusive childhood and I felt the salty mist well up in my eyes. I tried, goddamn I tried, to fuck up his stupid psychological techniques but he got closer. He told me it wasn't my fault, the shit that happened to me. I tried and I tried to push off him off, I tried so fucking hard.

Of course it was my fucking fault. I was a piece of shit and I deserved everything I got but Sean kept pushing. He kept convincing me that the the death-brew of my mentality was wrong. Looking back at that hour, I knew I was nearly at the seems of tearing. I don't know if there is a God, but there definitely is a funny guy sitting up saying "yeah, I'll choose this moment for him to break".

I hated it. I hated crying. I hated this room too. I got up and sat in the dusty old chair in the kitchen. The light above me was annoyingly bright and it burned my eyes but I didn't look away; I didn't blink. I just kept hearing it over and over again.

'It's not your fault'.

I wanted to hear it though. I wanted Sean to scream it at me over and over again so much that the sound of nasal voice was enough to tattoo those fucking words on me. I needed to believe it and even though I'll never admit it to him, I hope one day I'll believe in his words.

By the time all the blood from my body accumulated to my ass in the raggedy chair, it was nearly dawn. I thought about the interview. I know I should go... but fuck that. The phone rang as soon as I decided I'd skip work today and sleep the fuck in.

It was the professor. Typical.

"Will, good morning!" he chimed. It was too early in the morning for this cheery bullshit.

"You've got a pen and paper near you right?" I sighed into the phone and picked a the scrap off the floor.

"Yeah, go ahead." I reluctantly replied.

He went mumbling about that interview. He told me the address I think and some other useful information I probably should have been listening to, but I wasn't paying attention. I recognized the paper, I dropped it in on my way home. It was Sean's number and place. I played along to the professor's charade, repeating the phone number he gave me as if I was writing it down but I scribbled something else on the paper. When he hung up, I felt overwhelmed. I felt adrenaline rushing into my system and I wasn't pussying out of this one. I shoved the paper into my pocket on the way to the car and looked back at my place. My engine was running but I was stuck.

Should I just leave? '

you know what the best part of my day is? For about ten seconds, from when I pull up to the curb and when I get to your door, 'cause I think, maybe I'll get up there and I'll knock on the door and you won't be there. No goodbye. No see you later. No nothing. You just left. I don't know much, but I know that.' I smiled again, something I found myself doing a bit more often these days and drove out the park way while I gave that dumpster one last look.

"I hope your ten seconds are worth it, ya prick" I laughed.

I sped off on the road, suddenly feeling an urgency in my new found courage. When I got to Sean's house, I could see him in the window arranging his paintings. I stood there for a minute admiring his happiness and laughed to myself, imaging his reaction to my note. I took the piece of paper out of my pocket and folded it up in his metal mail box. I couldn't help myself, I admit, I had to to use the line he fed to his wife.

I had to go get mine.

California was weird. I finally got there mid-day and it is actually like the commercials describe it. It's so fucking sunny here, and there's ads everywhere and I mean fucking everywhere. You can get braces here for $1000 (not that I'd pay that much for a piece of fucking metal), "get thin quick" like the bony broad on the billboard, or listen to some half-pipe musician on some bullshit radio station. There were fields and fields of produce, cowboys standing on the edge of the road to fix my car, hippies smoking god knows what in the outlet streets, fuck it was so different. Everywhere I looked there was something going on. It wasn't gloomy like it was back home, it was bright here. You know, the sun was out and shit and I didn't know if I liked that. Every ray of light that penetrated this hot body stung me with self-confidence. I was being built up and I didn't know if it was because I was about to crash. I ran through a million and a half obstacles to get to her.

You know... her. I was walking through the cozy dorms of the university, getting stares from some snark, stuck-up dorks along the way and I just stood there. I stood there staring at the bright, gold-plated numbers of her room. I felt like right then and there, I was bitch-slapped by a wave of emotions. My throat dried up a bit and I could nearly feel her glowing presence. I longed to touch her again, talk to her, make her laugh, or take her out to the dirt-coffee they had in this state. She was perfect, ya know. In everything. Everything about her was perfect. I loved the way her eyes sparkled when she would laugh, and oh god that laugh. It was like a symphony to my ears and I swear, if every word I said could make her laugh, then I'd talk for fucking ever. I loved her smooth skin and how it felt brushed up against mine. I loved her soft lips and her dark hair and her smart mouth and her jokes and everything about her.

I missed her.

I forced myself to bring up a fist at her door and I shit you not, 0.2 seconds before I would've knocked, she opens the door. She looks shocked to see me and I could already see the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Will," she breathed out.

I felt my palms get sweaty and suddenly everything I knew I loved about her amplified. My breathing hitched and my heart nearly stopped for a split second. I knew what I wanted to say to her but every mesmerizing feature of her's completely wiped out the panic-speech I made in the car ride here. She looked at me, waiting for me to say something.

"I... um, I was just in the neighborhood," I stupidly lied.

She looked at me and attempted to hide her laugh but she didn't hold it in. God I loved that laugh.

"You were just in the neighborhood?"

"Yeah, you know, it's a few days drive but I heard they have some shitty coffee I'd love to try... Have a cup with me?"

Her smile faded and she sighed once more.

"Will, what are you doing here?" I smiled, flashing a view of my teeth to her.

Here it was, here was my chance.

"Well, I figured I'd come here, get a job, find the girl I love, and spend my life with her." Her head snapped up at my words and by now, the tears rolled down her perfect face.

"Th-the girl you love?"

"Yes, ma'am" I nodded.

"And that girl? That girl you love is me?"

I could hear her choking out the words through controlled sobs and I figured what's a better way to shut up a girl than to kiss her? So I went in for it, real Casanova-like. Chicks dig that.

"Skylar, I just blew off a job with a $60,000 starting salary to come all the way over here to have a cup of coffee with you. Yeah, I fucking love you."

And that was that. The rest of the sappy love story you can hear from my future wife but that was it for me. That was the day I drank the most disgusting cup of coffee in the world with the most breath-taking, most perfect woman in existence. So yeah, fuck that interview. I didn't regret not going to it because if you saw my girl, you would know.

She was a stunner.