I mouthed the next line as he said it. "It's supposed to be fucking, not love."I cringed as he moved the cursor over to the upper left of my screen an... clicked the small red "x", deleting my work forever. "Fuck `you, Chris." I seethed as I attempted to re-open Word. "Fuck you hard." See, buddy? That's how `you need to write."---Chris and I had been living together for about three years now. We had almost nothing in common, except for our love of writing. The only reason I hadn't killed him off. The problem for me was that the girl in whose shower he died was my boss, and because of our mutual grief, my hatred towards her and her guilt, it was decided that I should leave my place of work. It wasn't a decision made by both of us, but sadly my vote was kinda forfeit after I threw a chair at her face breaking her nose, so I had to give up my position in exchange of her not filling a complaint.Next, since I wasn't that gracious in his funeral and may have stated to his family how loyal and. More

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