Being A Prick

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't love you." No sooner were the words out of my mouth than a bright red pump zoomed centimeters by my head. *That was a close one,* I thought to myself as I dodge its pair, this one ranging a bit wide.

Her shriek could have broken glass, but it didn't. As it was, I was pretty sure the dogs down the street were howling in pain, and said so. She shrieked again, this time coming at me with her nails, as if they were claws. "God! Are you always this much of a prick?" She stops her advance and snatches up her bra instead, shaking it at me. "I make love to you, open my heart to you, and you tell me it's just sex? What the fuck, asshole?"

Okay, she's getting a little crazy on me now. I think it might be time to call in the reinforcements. I hide my phone behind my back as I autotext my buddies my 911 code. I've had to use it a few times before, so I can do it without looking now. And it's come in handy, too. "Hey," I say, thinking to calm her down. "I'm sorry if you got all riled up, but I never said we'd get married or anything. I've already got a girlfriend."

This, apparently, was not the right thing to say. "I think I'm going to kill you," she whispered as she froze, her eyes wide and her tone low. "I'm going to fucking kill you." And then, just as calmly as she said it, she knelt down by her bedside table, opened a drawer, and took out a gun. A very large, loaded gun.

"Wait!" I yell. "Just wait a sec--"