His name was Austin Alexander Bryant and who the fuck did he think he was talking to like that? I should've taken him out right then and there, a solid right hook to the jaw. Talking to my girl like she was lower than him, if such was even possible.
Her name was Allie E. Camsen, and no one ever seemed to know what the E. stood for. She smoked too much pot and caused too much trouble, but she always knew what she was doing. Partied hard without a care, singing songs and manipulating minds.
Allie couldn't get enough of everything dangerous, and she knew that boy couldn't handle her. But still, he was along for the ride without a chance to escape, even if he wanted to. He just watched as she drove her manual transmission piece of shit Jeep Renegade, stereo so loud he was sure she'd have a parental advisory sticker stuck to her somewhere. She was so raunchy and inappropriate, but he could never get enough. The Renegade doors existed once, until they got into a fight and he took them off just to upset her. Even when she broke into his Chevy to get them back, she only tore chunks and implanted dents into the clean white body of his precious four wheeler, just despite him. She left the doors in the bed of the truck, and there they had stayed for five months. Just to see who could last the longest.
She'd shout Juliette and The Licks, The Sex Pistols, and Joan knows she didn't give a damn about her tomboy reputation, that girl was a Cherry Bomb.
Austin would never leave her side, no matter how many times he had to drive her Jeep through the mud she'd gotten it stuck in. She was lude, crude, and inappropriate, but the most beautiful, deadliest avalanche he had ever seen. He couldn't let go.
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