Wwitah's blawk

When Cameron breaks up with me, it’s fast and easy.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he says. Then he storms off in the other direction.
This is the seventh time this has happened. It barely phases me anymore, because I know that in about four hours he’ll miss me and won’t want to go a night without having sex or getting wasted together. So he’ll apologize and promise to be a better boyfriend. And even though I know he’ll never be a good boyfriend, and this is just going to happen a million other times, I’ll take him back.
“No thanks,” I say, in reply to Cam’s lovely word choice. The funny part about it is, by tonight, Cam’s going to want to, anyway—screw me, that is. It’s not worth it to think about it, though, because it’s 7:15 A.M., and now that Cam’s pissed, I have a bus to catch. Plus, I’m about 98% sure that I’ll be wasted during whatever happens between me and Cam tonight, and what’s the use in worrying about something that you’ll barely remember, anyway?
After Cam breaks up with me, I meet Elijah at the end of the street we both live on, where our bus stops to pick us up. Elijah isn’t much like Cam. In fact, the two really have nothing at all in common.
Cameron is the type of guy who will break up with you for the fifth time, just after having almost gotten you pregnant because of his lack of skill with a condom while drunk. Elijah, on the other hand, is the type of guy who has sent you an “anonymous” Valentine’s Day card every year since you were 6, and still thinks you have no idea who sends them.
I am aware that I should be dating guys like Elijah, however, I’d bet my life on the fact that he is a virgin who has never had more alcohol in his body than the sip people let their kids take on New Year’s. There are girls who go after sweet, innocent guys. I am not one of those girls.
“HOLLIS!” That is the greeting I get when I turn the corner and reach the part of the neighborhood where our cul-de-sac meets the main road, where our bus picks up and drops off.
I put my hand up, a pathetic acknowledgment that Elijah is standing upright and still breathing.
“Hey,” Elijah says, as he turns and takes a few steps closer to me. He is uncomfortably close, in a borderline creepy kind of way. “What brings you back to the bus stop? I thought you had a ride with Doyle?”
“Cam and I broke up.” I want him to shut up before I start to think I actually give a shit about Cameron. Elijah doesn’t get this, however, and proceeds to fix his face into this strange pouty-face that makes me want to kick him in the balls.
To restrain myself from doing permanent damage in inconvenient places, I turn away from Elijah, looking out to the main road. No one drives by at 7:19 in the morning.
It’s completely empty.