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How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist : Part 3

This is part of an ongoing series. If you haven't read them already, read :

How I became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 1
and
How I became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 2

I wrote out this entire post before, and then the computer crashed and I lost it all, so I haven't felt like working on it. Finally, I'm biting the bullet and starting over :

Always And Sometimes

On Chasing Serendipity

Rebecca was the one who'd derided his dancing. She'd make fun of the way he'd miscount steps, or lose time, the way he'd been unable to converse while waltzing. She was a loose cannon. Usually a cannon loosed and aimed at his heart. She used to berate him for a slight lacking in his intellect. Use your common sense. The sarcasm dripping from the words still stung, years later.

She had nagged him endlessly, about picking up his clothes, picking her up from work, about the way he acted without thought sometimes, always piercing his heart with the icy spear of sarcasm.

It still burned to remember how she'd fly into moods, or come home from wherever she was, stewing with anger that would boil over onto his skin, skin that eventually grew thick and hard.

Of course, ice cut deeper and hurt more than flames ever did.

His throat still clenched over the vague, unclear mess that had been her connection to Jake. He'd never known for sure, and never would. There would be no closure, no resolution, no smiles of happiness, no gasps of relief. There would not be tears of despair, nor short gasping breaths of betrayal, would not have averting of the eyes, nor resolution and closure for him.

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