His Ideal Stay-Away-From-That-Bitch.

One of my favorite and memorable movie quotes comes from a fictional character opposite of the heroine who I feel like I relate to very well. She has a hard time saying the thing she means to say the moment she means to say them. Her male protagonists warns her though, that when she does say the things she wants to say, "...remorse inevitably follows."

I met Douche Boy again. 

It wasn't like we were making an effort to meet; things just turned out that way. But instead of refusing to see him, I wanted to. This time, to play along with his stupid antics. To make him feel like crap. For sheer amusement. 

This, my friends, is something I am tactfully good at, though it's nothing to brag about.

The same thing happens again: more perverted, immature jokes, more staring, more sneering and snickering with his buds- I couldn't take it anymore. So my sarcastic, tight-smiling, superficially-happy, and fearless side came out. Shameless, painful words that came out in a very sweet and lovely tone. Ironic sentences. It was absolute enjoyment on my part, watching him try not to really anger a girl. Let alone, the one he put down and embarrassed so many times the first time around.

Standing next to me, he asked in a quiet, but still with such a confident smile, "Do you hate me?"

I will remind you again that this is, indeed, the second time I am meeting him, and he is already asking me if I hate him.

What have I done? Or rather, what has he done?

But it's not true: I don't hate him. I don't hate him at all. He's just stupid. And for that, I take part in the satisfaction of creating this awareness around him. He should know how stupid he is, but I don't mean to implicitly state that I hate him.

I smile anyway. "I don't hate you."

Involuntarily, my eyes shift and my head turns. He reads my body language and says, "Then why do you always look away when I talk to you?"

He's right. I don't look at him after I'm finished talking to him. He's not worth my time if he really enjoys acting like a pompous, pubescent, pre-teen. I just look at him and smile without answering his question.

Things like this, plus loads of silences, fill the entire night. 

At the end of our war-- probably my last time ever seeing this kid-- we look at each other and he holds his arms out for a hug. I was surprised. 

To me, it was like a sign of surrender. It probably hurt me more than it hurt him, and I felt bad.

It was either that he felt bad for being such a dick to me, or he purposefully made himself look like the "bigger person" by "turning the other cheek." This was my first time being the douche, intentionally at least. I could imagine him and his friends going back to his car and talking about how bitchy I am. 

Still, no one can deny how horrible of a boy he is, all the time.
Well, I guess considering that this was our second and last meeting, he'll forever deem me The Bitch, just as I've deemed him The Douche.