I empty my locker with my top pulled up over my nose, a barrier between my fragile senses and the still pungent smell of fish that lingers. So much so, that I've literally got a bottle of berry scented air freshener taking residence in my locker, which I spray until it's particles are visibly floating in the air in front of me. Other than the fact it evokes asthma attacks in everyone in a five mile radius, I'd say that it serves me well. Of course, the smell wears off and eventually, the horrific smell of dead fish returns.

I'm not even sure how long it'd had been in there for. I mean, the smell has managed to cling to everything - the spare jacket I've since thrown away, convinced that even after two boil washes, it still stunk of fish. My books were more fortunate - a couple sprits of perfume seems to have handled their smell, although I'm still paranoid and most days now, I'll spray them in a morning. What a way to start the school year.

Personally, I don't think firecrackers in his car exhaust was retaliation enough for Elijah putting a dead fish in my locker, but apparently, it's classed as criminal damage and I'm 'lucky' that he didn't have me arrested. Quite the statement coming from someone who doesn't mind breaking and entering into someone's locker. Talk about hypocrisy.

"Prick." I mutter to myself as I earn some rather disgusted look from a pair of girls that walk by, becoming victim to the remaining scent, which I can tell by how they cover their noses theatrically with their hands and scuttle off.

"That's charming." I clench my jaw at the familiar voice - the voice behind the fish-locker extravaganza, actually - and slam my locker door shut, not ignorant to the tremble that vibrates across the wall it sits on.  "You woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning?" He asks me playfully, sporting that boyish grin he always does, his head tilted in a way that lets a rebelling strand of hair fall astray over his forehead.

I let my t-shirt fall from over my face, displaying my frown which only seems to make him smile more. "What do you want Hendrix?" I ask sharply, hoisting my bag up to my shoulder. He holds out his hand expectantly, palm up, as he leans against the line of lockers in a nonchalant manner, even going so far as faking a yawn. "What's this?" I ask lamely.

"I'm saving you the embarrassment of having to ask for my number Osborne, say thank you." He says.

I scoff, folding my arms in adamance. "And you just assumed I want your number?" He grins at me, sending me a wink which makes me physically cringe.

"No, I'm knowing you'll need it for when we've got this baby and you need daddy Hendrix to come and save the day." I scrunch up my nose in distaste, despite the fact that he's not all wrong. I imagine my parenting skills will be somewhat challenged, what with me having absolutely no experience, but Hendrix has a younger brother which might actually make him slightly more prepared for our robot child, not that I'd ever admit it.

Instead, I open my phone to the contacts page and thrust it towards him, muttering in distaste, "Daddy Hendrix", mocking the nickname he's apparently deemed himself.

After logging his number into my phone, that smug grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth, he throws me a fleeting glance. "I like the way it sounds when you say it." He jokes, evoking yet another shiver from me.

"I'd rather spoon out my eyeballs than ever call you that." I assure him haughtily, accepting my phone as he returns it. He's quick to pass his own phone to me, encouraging me to add my number by having the 'new contact' display already waiting for me.

"That's not very nice to say to the father of your child." He gleams, watching as I type in my number into his phone. I decide to name myself aptly as 'Mike Tyson', a subtle gloat to the time I knocked him out, splitting his eyebrow as an additional victory. That was a good day.

I hand his phone back with an undercurrent of aggression. "Piss off Hendrix." I snap at him, storming off. I'm quick to notice my trio of friends; Alena, Collins and Seb stood not too far, mouths gaping, eyes wide. "What?" I ask as I approach them.

"That looked amicable." Lena muses. I scoff and the four of us begin to our first class.

"Yes, a conversation which involves me shoving cutlery in my eye sockets is the epitome of amicable." I return.

Seb chuckles, throwing an arm over my shoulders and giving me a supportive squeeze. "I'd say it's progress. At least you're not shoving cutlery into his eye sockets."

~

As though by some miracle, the rest of my day is uneventful, calm, and doesn't involve me tearing a new one into Hendrix.

Biology passes, as does chemistry and Childcare, leaving me with lunch and a free period. I decide I'll do myself a favour and get started on the essay due as part of mine and Hendrix's project, confident that if I complete as much as possible without him, at least then there will be less chance of me committing a crime. That's just a hypothesis, not fact.

I'm just about finished with an introduction, creatively informing the reader of the main involvements of childhood development, when my phone rings. I answer without giving it a second glance, pinning it to my ear with my shoulder as I continue to type away on my laptop.

"Hello?" I say, lifting the tip of the word in the hope it'll encourage the ringer to identify themselves. It does, and in response I freeze up and I'm sure I have a seizure.

"Hey Char." Adam.

My fingers stop typing instantly. I take my ear away from the phone and check the caller ID, just to make sure that my brain isn't playing a cruel trick on me. Nope, it's him. He's calling.

"What's up?" I ask softly, still bewildered. Surely this is some elaborate, realistic dream that I'll wake up from any second now. Now.

"I was hoping we could talk? I wanted to when I dropped off your stuff yesterday, but when I saw Ezra, I kind of shit myself." He says with a light chuckle. Nope, this is completely real and now, all I can think about is just how normal he seems.

This is the first we've spoke since I threatened to smash his windows with a hammer and slash his car tyres after finding out that the model worthy blonde was tangled up in his bedsheets most nights. I didn't handle it all that well, but who would? It was hardly the scene I'd hoped to see after coming to surprise him after school. Nor is it one that will ever, ever, leave my brain.

"What is there to talk about?" I say swiftly, not daring to let our silence become extended.

"I just hate the terms we left things on. Besides, I was just driving past school and it made me think of you." My breath hitches in my throat but I ignore it, forcing out an increasingly shaky reply.

"So you're stalking me now, huh?" He chuckles again, sending a tingle running through my blood. How unbelievably embarrassing Charlotte. Fix yourself. It's pathetic to respond like this after what he did. Completely pathetic.

"Not purposely. So what do you think? Could we talk maybe?" I sigh, rubbing a heavy hand down my face. I channel my inner Nat, praying that her words will evoke a confidence in me that I'm not too sure I actually possess.

"No." I say softly, still slightly unsure. "No I don't think that's a good idea." In all my nerves, at least that sounds definitive. He waits a moment, leaving only the subtle crackling of the phone line in my ear.

"I just miss you." Those words that I've desired so desperately to hear but hate the fact that he says them. He's no different. Still the same piece of shit that doesn't appreciate what he's got and only wants what he hasn't. Arsehole.

"Maybe you shouldn't have fallen dick first into another girl then Adam. Ever think about that? This is all you. You were the one that couldn't be loyal, you were the one that forced my hand, you were the one that tried to fuck with my head by dropping off one of your jumpers – which by the way, you put way too much cologne on. Don't call me up now saying you miss me and want to talk. You had your chance and you blew it. Now piss off or I'll steal your dog." I snap out at him, hanging up the call while my fury still burns, hoping that the adrenaline will carry me long enough to avoid messaging him with an apology.

I throw my phone aside, rubbing my hands over my face as a low groan erupts from my chest. My head feels as though it's just been smashed against a wall and smeared a couple of times for good measure. If ever a spanner was thrown in the works, this is it.

There is no denying that I am my own worst enemy. I should delete his contact, but what point would it make when I can't delete him from my heart? Besides, the fact still remains that there is so much I want to know, I just can't bring myself to ask. His reasoning, his logic behind an act so immoral, so unjust, that it will leave a mark of distrust and paranoia on me forever more.

How am I meant to get over him now, when he's saying everything I so want to hear? All I'm going to think of now is how he said he misses me, knowing that he wants to see me and talk. Talk about what? As much as I hate him, I still love him too. More than ever, it seems impossible to even think about the notion of moving on. All of it, everything about that simple half a minute conversation, draws tears to my eyes.

"Osborne!" My head snaps up, eyes zoning in straight away on to the tall dickwad sauntering towards me.

"Piss off Hendrix." I say with vengeance. Of course, it goes ignored and he sits himself beside me. "Are you fucking deaf along with everything else? I said piss off." I'm sure he recoils slightly.

"Are you crying?" He says in disbelief.

"Yes, being forced to look at you burns my retinas." I snap, very, very aware of my vision that seems to be blurring increasingly, so much so that I rub the sleeve of my t-shirt over my eyes. Off all the times I really don't want to see Hendrix, now is at the top of that list. If he see's me cry, I might as well just sign myself up for twice the ridicule I already receive. "Leave. I'm not in the mood."

"Are you alright?" He asks slowly. For just a split second, I almost consider the fact he might actually care. When the lapse of judgement passes, I turn to him, my face twisted into disgust.

"Yeah, just dandy, now fuck off. Haven't you got anything else to do with your day rather than obsess over making my life a misery?" He stands with a scoff, slamming my laptop shut on my fingers that seize with the impact. I wince and snap my head up at him, meeting his hardened gaze and twitching jaw.

"Do you know, you're a real piece of fucking work Osborne." He bites out at me. "You moan that I antagonise you, so here I am, going out of my way to try and be nice, and you're just about as unappreciative as I'd expect you to be."

"What, so a ten minute council session makes you crave atonement? Let's not pretend that you aren't hiding a second agenda." I blindly retort, instinctive, just as it is with all our arguments.

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not that important. I came to ask about the essay but seen as you've got too much of a rod up your arse, I'll just 'fuck off' and find 'something else to do with my day'." He grits out at me before spinning on his heels and storming off, the back of his neck brandished red with anger.

I wipe the stay tear that has somehow managed to break free from the barriers I braced. For what started as such a plain and simple day, it's quick turned into a shit show. I've got an ex-boyfriend that's suddenly wormed his way into the crevasses of my heart, occupying my mind completely and wholly. I've got a project partner who already can't stand me, and I've just completely eradicated any chance of civil ground, stamping all over the rather monumental point in our hate-ship where he portrayed a sliver of compassion. I've got tear stains all down the sleeve of my t-shirt and I've got crushed knuckles from my laptop.

Fuck Tuesdays.