She believed that scars had a special something about them.

Everything was in slow motion the moment she fell off from the bike that day. She lost balance and stumbled off the bike, fell forward knees first. The gash was the deepest she had ever seen. It didn't bleed, at first at least. The gash was a dead white, and the blood seeped out, droplet by droplet. She got up from the ground and got on the bike. She continued to ride, feeling the blood trickle down. The gash had started to tingle.
Everyone was oddly calm that day. Her dad, the Virgo, simply looked at the gash and said that it would probably take a year for the scar to fade.
She was strangely proud of the gash. She loved the way it hurt. She would cover it up under jeans and feel like she had some wonderfully horrible secret. It proved that she existed.

She always had an inky feeling that the fall had been an omen of something.

She met him the next day, after the fall. He was sitting on his black scooter, his arms leaning on the handles. There were something about his eyes. His eyes didn't go with his complete bad boy attire. His gaze was too soft.

She took off her aviators and looked at him a grin. She would hear later how the aviators turned him off for a second. She would be mocked for wearing them on that not so sunny day afterwards.

She learned fast. She wanted to prove that she was good. She tackled drumming with the kind of ferocity that she approached everything with, at least everything she wanted to get right. Or maybe she didn't learn that fast, and the compliment in the text message she would receive later on was just another polite opening. She would never have the chance to know.

He would take her to a smoky pool parlor the second day. She wasn't used to the smoke and she didn't care that much about pool. She had never been to a pool parlor. Maybe that was why she said yes when he asked her if she wanted to go. Maybe it was the way he made her feel. The chemistry between them wasn't the kind that would spiral out of control. He made her feel safe.

He took her bowling the third day. Blowing would be boring if it wasn't for him. She didn't really like his friend that brought his girlfriend along that day. It made it an awkward double date. But it was fun. It was fun with him. It was easy laughing with him.

This was different from usually happened with guys for her. She didn't have time to analyze. She didn't have time to think about where they were going. She didn't have time to care about where they were going.

He kissed her on the third day.

They both stumbled a bit.

She didn't know what to do with the kiss. She was on fast forward and she didn't have time to think about it. She was going to Taipei for university and he was staying in Tainan. She didn't believe in long distance relationships.

On the fourth day, the death day, they were sitting at Starbucks. His phone rang and he started talking to a friend, boy talk. She sneaked a sip of his latte, and decided that she still didn't like coffee. She overheard him telling his friend that he was at Starbucks with his girlfriend. She waited for the phone call to end. She looked up at him and said so I'm your girlfriend now. He gave her one of his lukewarm bad boy grins.

So that was that. She was his girlfriend now. She had a problem with the his and hers. She would always introduce him as "the" boyfriend. She felt that he wasn't hers and she didn't want to be his anyways.

She would rub on the scar as they talked about life and stuff. He had seen the gash. He didn't like it. Everything about her fascinated him just a little bit more than it repulsed him.
Sometimes it would feel as if they were different poles tugging on each other, trying to find a balance.
He would live on the hope that maybe she would one day become not so obnoxious, and she would live on the hope that maybe one day he would really understand. She knew that he hated and loved her for her obnoxiousness, for the way she would poke at the elephant in the room, for the way she would push him to his limits.

She drove him crazy.

Taking her out to meet friends was always an adventure with a headache involved. She could do nice, but it stretched her. She was always better alone with him. She didn't like his package of friends.
His friends. He wished she could be the same with him when around his friends. She was easy, carefree, light around him. But she couldn't do that around his friends. She was obnoxious. She would unconsciously make them feel uncomfortable.
He didn't know why she had to test people.
He didn't know why because she hadn't had the time to test him.

Somehow she always felt that the scar had been an omen of something.

Sometimes, when she was alone, she would rub on that scar and wonder how long they would last. She couldn't believe in forever. Forever is jinxed, for forever.

Being with him wore her down, bit by bit. Or maybe it was just her. She felt herself fade when she was with him. All what was left of her were the stretched smiles and the yeses and the waiting. It was probably the waiting that tortured her the most. It was her problem. She couldn't really find a balance between him and her world. They were completely different elements.
About every week or so, she would step out of her world and into his, never the other way around. She didn't want it that way, or maybe it was never destined to be that way.
She had started to wait too, when she was in her world. Her life had started to become a prolonged wait for the bus, a five day wait for the ride back.

She didn't know when she decided that it had to stop. Maybe it was bubbling in her for a while now, all the little things that went unnoticed would turn the heat up higher, notch by notch.

It was destined to happen.

Her scar had faded.

She called him on a Saturday. It was a very dramatic Saturday night, dark, windy, raining just enough to get you wet. She was anxious and agitated. She told him over the phone, on the roof top of her dorm. It all seemed so corny. It all seemed so fake, like a very badly directed break up scene.

She felt as that he had a "stray theory".

It had all happened so suddenly that he felt that she was just a pet that had forgotten to come home. He was waiting for her to come back again.

Every phone call that she picked up ended with the same question until she stopped answering.

He wanted to know why.

She didn't love him anymore.

And she didn't know why he wouldn't accept that.
Wasn't that better than any reason she could've given him?