I wrote this in US History class.
Its suppose to take place in the 1920's and that's why a few words might pop up and make you go "...huh?"
Its just 1920's slang. Cake-eater means a ladies man. XD
PROCEED.
I don't quite know why he chose me of all people.
He seemed to think that because he and I were raised together since we were diapers that automatically gave him the right to court me now that we were adults. He'd follow me just about everywhere like a loyal mutt, seeing what he could do to help me, what he could do to please me. I didn't understand at all. There wasn't anything that appealing in me. I've been told for years by almost everyone I knew (including him!) how I had such a short temper and large violence streak whenever angered, so I was pretty sure I would end up spending the rest of my days all alone maybe with a few cats to keep me company.
Although I was happy that there was at least someone out there who was willing to put up with such a spiteful human as me, I couldn't deny he had his bad traits too. The man was a notorious cake-eater, hunting down any beautiful woman he could find. I shouldn't have expected his disgusting habit to end the moment he decided he wanted to have a relationship with me—after all, old habits die hard with this man.
He was the perfect charmer, I'll give him that. Wavy auburn hair, eyes such a strange color that they sometimes glowed with the shade of a bloody rose. His official trade mark rested as a large white scar slashed across his right eye. He was smooth with his words and movements, the ladies and even men all considered him a lovely darb, a perfect man.
But if he was really perfect, he wouldn't be leaving me every night alone in this giant house so he could go party with his friends. I had quit my habit of drinking and smoking a few years ago, no longer finding any interest in it, but now he was doing it constantly. It was especially dangerous now, now that prohibition was in order, and I feared him getting in trouble without me there to quickly wiggle him out of it. He may be good with words, but he cracked easily when he was under al lot of pressure.
Then the doorbell rang loudly, causing me to jump off my seat on the bed and race downstairs to open the door and find my "boyfriend" standing there with a small bouquet of pink and magenta roses, a big dumb grin spread across his attractive face.
"Hey, babe. Sorry I'm home so late. You missed me didn't you?" Oh how I wanted to smack this man right across his perfect ritzy face. It was past two in the morning!
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" I growled at him. He chuckled in response.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm sorry sweetie," He looked up at me with his signature puppy dog look. "You'll forgive me though, right?"
I growled again and turned on my heel made my way back up the stairs.
"Come to bed in about 5 minutes."
"Sounds swell, my love!" He chanted after me, goofy smile still in place.