"How long?" I asked, and the words rolled off my tongue easily.

"Six months," he replied, scratching the back of his head, his messy hair falling over his hand. My eyes fell to the floor and I asked,

"How old is she?"

"Nineteen."

"Where's she from?"

"L.A."

"You said you hated those girls," I spat, my mind filling with images of skinny, tall blonde girls in bikinis and little else, "Or were you lying about that, too?"

"Oh, Sam, don't be like that," he sighed, tilting his head to one side, fringe slipping along his forehead a little. I felt the anger deep inside of me even then.

"Don't be like what?"

"Don't be such a bitch," he replied effortlessly and I threw my hands into the air and barked,

"I have every right to be. Every right. You expect me to me to find you fucking a girl with thighs half the size of mine and breasts twice as big and be overjoyed, huh?"

"It wasn't like that," he groaned, scratching the back of his head again, and my hands found my hips and I snapped,

"Oh, really? Well I'd think even a girl like her would have enough propriety to keep her clothes on unless she had other intentions, Austin!"

"You're giving me a headache," he murmured, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a lighter. In that instant I jump forwards and knock it out of his hand and exclaim,

"Don't you dare do that!"

"Do what?" He asked slowly, a coy smile playing about his lips as from the loose pocket of his jeans he produced a packet of cigarettes. He withdrew one and I knew he could see me fuming as he placed it between his lips and looked up at me. "This?"

I couldn't take it, so I reached forward and knocked the lighter from his hands and it fell with a clatter onto the floor. He watched it silently for a few seconds before he straightened up and pulled the cigarette from between his lips. I asked,

"So what do we do now?"

He shrugged and I sank onto the couch beside that fucking lighter and repeated my question, like some sort of mantra. "Do we try and sort things out? Do we talk some more?"

"I think you've said it all, Sam," he murmured, rolling his eyes, and I looked up at him. He didn't care. He showed no remorse. He had no remorse. We could do all the talking in the world and it wouldn't help any; he'd just do it again because now he knew he could get away with it, and I was not strong enough to make him think otherwise.

"I haven't heard you shed much light on this," I said. "Care to tell me why you've been fucking another girl for a third of the time we've been together?"

"I don't know. Maybe I wanted to piss you off," he shrugged, watching me tear my hair out as he remained calm and collected. I wanted to slap that arrogant look off his gorgeous face at the same time I wanted to rip his clothes off.

"Maybe," I replied, my eyes connected with his still, following him as he moved around the room a little, still looking at that lighter. "But I don't think so."

"Oh, then maybe...Hmm. Maybe I forgot I already had a girlfriend. You know, I do sometimes run away with myself."

"Easy mistake to make," I smirked sarcastically as he stroked his chin conspiratorially, trying to look like he was thinking hard for once in his life.

"Maybe I did it," he said, raising his eyebrows at me, "Maybe I did it just because I could, Sam. Maybe I did it because I had the opportunity. "

"You're a liar," I told him, "You've never been an opportunist." I stood up again. "You just wouldn't. You just wanted to hurt me."

"Listen to you, you sound pathetic," he groaned, shaking his head, inching towards the lighter once more. "You just don't want to believe it."

"You wouldn't," I said, my lip trembling, "We weren't ever great together, were we? I hated your smoking and you, I don't know, hated my..."

"Maybe we weren't, Samantha," he smiled, stepped up close to me, his hand holding my chin to look into his eyes still, "Maybe I always just hated your guts."

"You're horrible!" I exclaimed, hitting his arm away and he laughed at me, "Stop messing with my head. There has to be a reason. There is always a reason."

"I gave you it, you stupid hoe," he grinned incredulously, and I yelled back,

"Don't you call me that! Austin, don't you dare!"

He smiled and stepped backwards, lifting his hands up to me in question. What does it matter to me? He was asking, you're the one with the problem.

"To hell with that, I'll call you what I want; you're not my girlfriend anymore," he spat at me and I frowned again, confused. Then he stooped to pick up the lighter and the cigarette returned and I couldn't help myself.

"Austin!" I screeched, frustrated and confused as I launched myself towards him. I stopped myself a foot away form him and he grinned and coaxed,

"Go on, Sam. Hit me. I promise it'll make you feel better."

I paused and looked down, lip shaking again.

"Or are you too scared, sweetie?" He whispered, his warm breath beside my ear, "You never were very feisty, were you?"

I looked away but his head followed mine with the smirk still intact, chasing the smile away from my face and fixing it into a frown. "Go ahead. Hit me. Hell knows I deserve it."

His hand closed around my wrist and he lifted my arm up, up, until my fist was against his temple and he was looking straight at me. His expression told me it was all a joke to him; one stupid, unimportant April Fool's. He turned his face very slowly to the side and kissed my fingers: one, two, three.

"I bet you'd love it, Samantha. To be in control of something for once. Let your temper get the better of you."

He made the back of my hand caress his cheek and I felt it trembling as I felt the beginnings of stubble on his skin.

"Remember what happened when you lost it with Kiri when you were seven?" He whispered.

I whimpered and stepped back. That was enough.

"I was young, Austin, and that was an accident."

"Sure it was, baby," he smiled, his face still as cocky, still so high and mighty. "You didn't mean for it, did you? But I bet you liked it," he said, his voice purring as he added after one short breath I wanted to be the last of many, "Crunch."

That was exactly the sound it made. Crunch. Like a car crumpling into a wall or treading on tin foil or biting into an apple.  Crunch. That was exactly it.

"So hit me, Samantha. You'll probably even enjoy it," he smiled and I watched as be bent down and collected the lighter and the cigarette. "And even if you don't," he said, as the cigarette went between his lips as a flame licked across it, "I'd like you to know that in a few minutes when you calm down and wish you had actually gotten your own back, I'm going to be walking out of here with a fucking cancer stick in my mouth and I'm going to tell all my friends that you are the worst mistake I ever made."

My hand enclosed around the nearest object to me and it was warm in my palm so I guessed it's the lamp. It all happened in a blur, but I breathed in and smelt the smoke and then I'd let go and hurled the object as hard as I could and although my eyes had been closed, I'd heard something drop to the floor and the next thing I knew, he was no longer in front of me. He was on the floor and there was something unmistakeably scarlet coming out of his head.

Crunch. That was the sound it made, I thought, as I picked up my bag and left his apartment, his body still on the floor where it deserved to be.