(I have been watching Pretty Little Liars lately – don’t worry, the fact surprises the hell out of me, too – and, painful as it is to admit it, I thought it was junk. You know, the heroin type of junk. This was inspired by my favorite pairing on the show.)
There are no more seats except that one, beside him. You know you shouldn’t – he’s dangerous, they say – and as you look around you see them casting surreptitious glances at his direction. Your direction.
He’s dangerous, they say – but you’re fearless. You sit down, more as an act of defiance than anything else.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, in a quieter voice than you could have ever imagined coming out of his mouth.
“What do you mean?” you say, trying to avoid his eyes, fixing them instead on the idiots looking at you, dumbstruck.
He smiles. “Nothing.”
The Soapbox Idiot 