Summary: They swore to each other that after the violent breakup, they would never talk to each other again. A serious accident, however, may just change every word spoken.

Forget

Chapter 1

He huffed in disgust as he powerwalked to his car, anger in each footstep. With the ridged keys digging deep into his palm that he squeezed almost to the point of bleeding, he came to the driver-side door and began to fondle for the right key.

The trouble was only beginning.

As he huffed and scowled about under his breath, a blue-eyed female pursued him, her face red with pure frustration.

"Who do you think you are?!" she spat as she shoved the boy by his shoulder, forcing immediate eye contact.

"Well, I think I'm a caring boyfriend. That's what you've been asking from me, is it?!"

Brittany Miller scrunched her face in anger that she couldn't even fathom at the moment. So much anger filled her that she didn't know where to put the rest. "Is 'caring' controlling me in front of your friends to show them who's boss, while, in the same breath, embarrassing me in front of mine?"

Alvin Seville released a breath that deflated his chest, and he shot a hateful gaze in Brittany's direction. The audacity of this girl, he thought, was mind-blowing. "I was only looking out for you… you tend to-"

"What do I tend to do?!"

"You tend to make these decisions so… in the moment! Even more than I do!"

"Pot calling the kettle black, are we now?"

He rolled his eyes before putting his attention back to his keys. "And you yelling at me like I'm your dog was cool, though, right?"

Just moments before the argument, the couple, being freshmen in college, ventured their way out into town and happened to find their friends at the local tattoo and hookah bar hybrid shop. As the group laughed and talked between each puff of their vapor sticks – to which Alvin accepted very few little puffs and Brittany flat out declining – the tattoo portion of the hybrid shop began to entice their interest.

"I wouldn't mind getting a rose on my forearm!" an already tatted male spoke as he raised the sleeve to his white t-shirt.

The group chuckled aloud… and that's when Brittany spoke up.

"What if I get one on my lower back?" she asked before tracing her finger just above her waistline on the small of her back.

The group agreed to the quick decision… all but Alvin, that is. He sat with an arched eyebrow as he watched his girlfriend stand to her feet, eyeing her back as if it would jump out and bite him at any given second. It wasn't like Alvin was caught in a fit of jealousy, but he was indeed caught in a whirl of memories that plagued him for a long time.

He could remember back in high school, when a popular girl got the small of her back tattooed. His friends were on her like flies at a barbeque.

"Hey Alvin, look at that slut!" his friends would effortlessly cheer. "Nasty tramp-stamp…"

"She must be easy," they would also holler.

Alvin couldn't let Brittany be the girl they talked viciously about. To him, to be frank, the tattoo didn't matter to him; he would even admit that it may complement her; however, the way the boys made the girls out to be if they occupied such tattoo - raging whores - was sickening him greatly.

"I don't think you should get that," he spoke straightforwardly with crossed arms. "Get something on your ankle; it'll be cuter," he suggested.

Brittany wrinkled her nose at such a recommendation. She shook her head with a light, 'ha!' in his face. This sent Alvin just slightly to the edge as he could almost taste the bit of arrogance she gave off. "Come on, Alvin, you know it'll be fine!"

"Please don't get it…"

The friends around them could feel slight tension.

"Alvin," she muttered while trying to place a pseudo-smile on her face to assure that everything was fine, when she knew it was heading south… and fast, "not now," she hissed through gritted pearly whites.

He stood to his feet, his height swallowing her whole. "You can get whatever you want, but you're not getting one down there."

Brittany could feel her tiny hands curl into tight, white-knuckled fists as she looked to her friends who scrutinized the argument and Alvin's definite stance on the issue. They could feel the tension boiling like smoldering-hot water in a pot, and all they could do was wait for the water to explode. "Last time I checked, I could get whatever I want; my body, my rules."

"Thing is, I know the outcome that you don't… so you're not walking outta here with that thing…"

Brittany bit her lip as she flipped her hair over her shoulders. "I suggest," she began, significantly raising her voice, "that you sit down like a good boy is supposed to and shut up!"

Alvin scoffed with a shake of his head before rushing out of the establishment, leaving stunned friends and random customers alike with a sour taste lingering behind.

And thus, the couple stood outside in the parking lot arguing their points, fueling the fire that was only growing, roaring, burning…

"You don't get it!" he exclaimed as he slammed a hand on the hood of his car. "I don't care what tattoo you get, but others will, and I'm trying to save you from that!"

"Save me?!" she retorted in disbelief. "I'm a grown woman who doesn't need saving, Alvin!"

Alvin fell against his car, his pinchers massaging the bridge of his nose in the upmost irritation. "Then what the hell do you need me for?"

Brittany, clearly taken aback by the suddenly question, shrugged her shoulders. "I never needed you; I always wanted you. If I wanted saving, I would have asked… and I sure as hell don't want you choosing what goes on my body!"

"Fine," Alvin finished with a shrug, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry."

"And I know they're called tramp-stamps!" she ignited suddenly, "so I'm curious… you probably think I am one…"

Flabbergasted couldn't even rightfully describe what Alvin felt towards that very statement. He knew in his heart he could have gone about the situation in a different manner, but he also knew that was never a thought in his mind. "For starters, Britt, that's never crossed my thoughts, let alone cross my lips, so you can stop while you're ahead!"

"So what do you think of me then, huh? Because the way you sounded in there sounded like you thought I was a complete slut!"

"Slut," Alvin repeated bluntly with a shake of his head. "Let's forget I ever called you beautiful… ever… but the one time-" he paused and held up a hand, slapping the side of his face and letting it drag down lazily. "I'm done here…"

"Why are we done when you announce it?" she fitfully asked with a scoff. "I'm not done with you!"

"You don't need me… and you don't want my opinion… and you think I think you're a slut… so what are we doing?"

The wind violently lashed between the two, shifting their bodies slightly.

"What?" he asked with frustration. "What?!"

She broke eye contact and folded her arms, shaking off the question in mere seconds.

"Fine, then I know what to do…"

He looked to his left hand, the ring finger, to be exact, that harbored a diamond-studded promise ring that gleamed beautifully, gorgeously, intensely in the sun, holding so much assurance and heart; so much of those, he almost didn't want to take it off… but he did, and handed it to Brittany, placing it in the palm of her delicate hand.

She looked at the ring with disgust and looked to Alvin for immediate answers. "A-a-are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Well fine!" she spat before taking off her own and tossing it carelessly to Alvin, having him fumbling with her until he caught a good grip on it. "And don't you dare ever talk to me again…"

Fury was written in both gazes, but once they turned from each other, nothing but tears caked their vision. She strutted off down the parking lot, hoping to keep her cries in her aching chest, and Alvin managed to get into his car, slamming his forehead into the stirring wheel over… and over… and over again.

"Seville, you're an idiot…"