I just punched a girl in the face.

I just punched a girl in the face. Not just any girl. My best friend. My roommate.
Well, as of five minutes ago, I guess I should call her my ex-roommate.
Her nose began bleeding almost immediately, and for a second, I felt bad for hitting her. But then I remembered what a lying, betraying whore she is, and it made me want to punch her again. I would have if Hunter hadn’t prevented it by stepping between us.
So instead, I punched him. I didn’t do any damage to him, unfortunately. Not like the damage I’ve done to my hand.
Punching someone hurts a lot worse than I imagined it would. Not that I spend an excessive amount of time imagining how it would feel to punch people. Although I am having that urge again as I stare down at my phone at the incoming text from Ridge. He’s another one I’d like to get even with. I know he technically has nothing to do with my current predicament, but he could have given me a heads-up a little sooner. Therefore, I’d like to punch him, too.
Ridge: Are you OK? Do u want to come up until the rain stops?

Of course, I don’t want to come up. My fist hurts enough as it is, and if I went up to Ridge’s apartment, it would hurt a whole lot worse after I finished with him.
I turn around and look up at his balcony. He’s leaning against his sliding-glass door; phone in hand, watching me. It’s almost dark, but the lights from the courtyard illuminate his face. His dark eyes lock with mine and the way his mouth curls up into a soft, regretful smile makes it hard to remember why I’m even upset with him in the first place. He runs a free hand through the hair hanging loosely over his forehead, revealing even more of the worry in his expression. Or maybe that’s a look of regret. As it should be.
I decide not to reply and flip him off instead. He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, I tried, and then he goes back inside his apartment and slides his door shut.
I put the phone back in my pocket before it gets wet, and I look around at the courtyard of the apartment complex where I’ve lived for two whole months. When we first moved in, the hot Texas summer was swallowing up the last traces of spring, but this courtyard seemed to somehow still cling to life. Vibrant blue and purple hydrangeas lined the walkways leading up to the staircases. The fountain affixed in the center of the courtyard saw a steady stream of youthful visitors.
Now that summer has reached its most unattractive peak, the water in the fountain has long since evaporated. The hydrangeas are a sad, wilted reminder of the excitement I felt when Tori and I first moved in here. Looking at the courtyard now, defeated by the season, is an eerie parallel to how I feel at the moment. Defeated and sad.
I’m sitting on the edge of the now empty cement fountain, my elbows propped up on the two suitcases that contain most of my belongings, waiting for a cab to pick me up. I have no idea where it’s going to take me, but I know I’d rather be anywhere except where I am right now. Which is, well, homeless.
I could call my parents, but that would give them ammunition to start firing all the We told you so’s at me.
We told you not to move so far away, Sydney.
We told you not to get serious with that guy.
We told you if you had chosen prelaw over music, we would have paid for it.
We told you to punch with your thumb on the outside of your fist.
Okay, maybe they never taught me the proper punching techniques, but if they’re so right all the damn time, they should have.
I clench my fist, then spread out my fingers, then clench it again. My hand is surprisingly sore, and I’m pretty sure I should put ice on it. I feel sorry for guys. Punching sucks.
Know what else sucks? Rain. It always finds the most inappropriate time to fall, like right now, while I’m homeless.
The cab finally pulls up, and I stand and grab my suitcases. I roll them behind me as the cab driver gets out and pops open the trunk. Before I even hand him the first suitcase, my heart sinks as I suddenly realize that I don’t even have my purse on me.
Shit.
I look around, back to where I was sitting on the suitcases, then feel around my body as if my purse will magically appear across my shoulder. But I know exactly where my purse is. I pulled it off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor right before I punched Tori in her overpriced, Cameron Diaz nose.
I sigh. And I laugh. Of course, I left my purse. My first day of being homeless would have been way too easy if I’d had a purse with me.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the cab driver, who is now loading my second piece of luggage. “I changed my mind. I don’t need a cab right now.”
I know there’s a hotel about a half-mile from here. If I can just work up the courage to go back inside and get my purse, I’ll walk there and get a room until I figure out what to do. It’s not as if I can get any wetter.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Aku hanya menekan seorang gadis di wajah. Gadis bukan sembarang. Sahabatku. Teman sekamar saya.Yah, pada lima menit yang lalu, saya kira saya harus meneleponnya ex-teman sekamar saya.Hidungnya mulai perdarahan segera, dan untuk kedua, aku merasa tidak enak untuk memukul. Tapi kemudian aku ingat apa pelacur berbohong, mengkhianati dia, dan itu membuat saya ingin memukul dia lagi. Aku akan memiliki jika Hunter tidak mencegahnya dengan melangkah antara kami.Jadi, bukannya, aku meninju. Aku tidak melakukan kerusakan padanya, sayangnya. Tidak seperti kerusakan yang telah saya lakukan untuk tanganku.Meninju seseorang sakit jauh lebih buruk daripada yang saya bayangkan itu akan. Tidak bahwa saya menghabiskan jumlah waktu membayangkan bagaimana rasanya memukul orang yang berlebihan. Meskipun saya memiliki dorongan itu lagi ketika aku menatap ke bawah ponsel saya teks masuk Ridge. Ia adalah satu lagi saya ingin mendapatkan bahkan dengan. Aku tahu dia secara teknis tidak ada hubungannya dengan keadaan saya saat ini, tapi dia bisa memberi saya kepala-up sedikit lebih cepat. Oleh karena itu, saya ingin memukulnya, terlalu.Ridge: Apakah Anda OK? Apakah Anda ingin datang sampai hujan berhenti?Tentu saja, saya tidak ingin untuk datang. Tangan saya sakit cukup seperti itu, dan jika aku pergi ke Ridge di apartemen, itu akan menyakiti jauh lebih buruk setelah aku selesai dengannya.Aku berbalik dan memandang dari balkon. Ia adalah bersandar pintu geser kaca; telepon di tangan, menonton saya. Hampir gelap, tapi lampu dari halaman menerangi wajahnya. Matanya yang gelap kunci dengan tambang dan jalan mulutnya ikal ke, lembut maunya membuat sulit untuk mengingat mengapa aku 'm bahkan marah dengan dia di tempat pertama. Dia berjalan bebas melalui rambut menggantung longgar ke dahinya, mengungkapkan bahkan lebih dari khawatir dalam ekspresi. Atau mungkin itu adalah melihat menyesal. Sebagaimana mestinya.Saya memutuskan untuk tidak menjawab dan flip dia sebagai gantinya. Ia menjabat kepala dan mengangkat bahu bahu, seolah-olah mengatakan, aku mencoba, dan kemudian kembali di dalam apartemen nya dan slide nya menutup pintu.Aku meletakkan telepon kembali di saku saya sebelum basah, dan aku melihat ke sekeliling di courtyard kompleks apartemen tempat aku tinggal selama dua bulan seluruh. Ketika kami pertama kali pindah, panas Texas menelan up jejak-jejak terakhir musim semi, tetapi ini tampaknya untuk entah bagaimana masih berpaut kepada kehidupan. Hydrangea biru dan ungu yang semarak berjajar jalan setapak menuju ke tangga. Air mancur ditempel di tengah halaman melihat aliran pengunjung muda.Sekarang bahwa musim panas telah mencapai puncaknya yang paling menarik, air di air mancur lama telah menguap. Hydrangea adalah pengingat sedih, layu kegembiraan saya rasakan ketika Tori dan saya pertama kali pindah di sini. Melihat halaman sekarang, dikalahkan oleh musim, adalah sejajar menakutkan bagaimana saya rasakan saat ini. Dikalahkan dan sedih.Aku duduk di tepi air mancur kini kosong semen, siku bersandar pada dua koper yang berisi sebagian besar barang-barang saya, menunggu taksi menjemputku. Aku punya tidak tahu di mana itu akan membawa saya, tapi aku tahu aku lebih suka berada di mana saja kecuali dimana aku sekarang. Yang, baik, tunawisma.Saya bisa menelepon orangtua saya, tetapi yang akan memberi mereka amunisi untuk memulai menembak semua kami memberitahu Anda so padaku.Kami sudah kubilang untuk tidak bergerak begitu jauh, Sydney.Kami katakan tidak untuk mendapatkan serius dengan orang itu.Kami memberitahu Anda jika Anda telah memilih prelaw atas musik, kita akan dibayar untuk itu.Kami bilang Anda untuk pukulan dengan ibu jari Anda di luar kepalan tangan Anda.Oke, mungkin mereka tidak pernah mengajarkan saya punching teknik yang tepat, tetapi jika mereka begitu benar sialan sekali, mereka harus memiliki.Aku mengepalkan tinju saya, kemudian menyebar jari saya, kemudian mengepalkan lagi. Tangan saya mengejutkan sakit, dan aku cukup yakin aku harus meletakkan es di atasnya. Aku merasa kasihan bagi orang-orang. Meninju sucks.Tahu apa lagi sucks? Hujan. Itu selalu menemukan waktu paling tidak pantas untuk jatuh, seperti sekarang, sementara aku tunawisma.Taksi akhirnya menarik, dan aku berdiri dan koper saya ambil. Saya roll mereka di belakang saya sebagai sopir taksi keluar dan muncul buka batang. Sebelum aku bahkan tangan-Nya pertama koper, hatiku tenggelam ketika tiba-tiba menyadari bahwa aku bahkan tidak punya dompet saya.Kotoran.I look around, back to where I was sitting on the suitcases, then feel around my body as if my purse will magically appear across my shoulder. But I know exactly where my purse is. I pulled it off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor right before I punched Tori in her overpriced, Cameron Diaz nose.I sigh. And I laugh. Of course, I left my purse. My first day of being homeless would have been way too easy if I’d had a purse with me.“I’m sorry,” I say to the cab driver, who is now loading my second piece of luggage. “I changed my mind. I don’t need a cab right now.”I know there’s a hotel about a half-mile from here. If I can just work up the courage to go back inside and get my purse, I’ll walk there and get a room until I figure out what to do. It’s not as if I can get any wetter.