Disclaimer: "I am special I am happy I am gonna hurl!"

(An: Um, before I get flamed to the sun and back, please understand that this is a joke. A big one. It talks about suicide, sex, and depression in a rather flippant way because it is a JOKE. It utilizes a crack pairing because I like Harula and because it is a JOKE. It is a half-assed, vague AU because it is a JOKE. So if you're going to flame me about that, please go somewhere else. Flame me about how much the rest of it sucks. Haru's behavior is actually based on my friend's, so I more or less know what I'm talking about here.)

Ever get sick of being a nice guy? Hell knows I do. Heaven knows too; it got the memo months before hell. Even though hell has high-speed. Heaven used to have me on speed-dial. Now I think I’m on the blacklist.

But I digress.

I mean, seriously. How did a sixteen-year-old get so evil? …Or so experienced, for that matter? I mean, I'm eighteen, and I don't know half the stuff she knows about… well, you know. Not for lack of attempts at learning.

She, of course, doesn't attempt to teach me; she just smirks, tosses her hair, and moves my hands to the right places. I try to remember them for future reference, but I always forget in the… uh… heat of the moment.

Good God, I'm trying to make my case as a bad boy, and I can't even say the word orgasm? No wonder Azula always laughs at me. I think I'll go take a bath with a toaster.

Except that if I told Azula that, she'd probably ask to join me. She's not just more experienced than me, she's nuts. And I don't mean dominatrix-nuts, I mean tried-to-kill-herself nuts.

…Is it cool to say you met your girlfriend in a psych ward? Because that's where this discussion is leading. I mean, it's not like we exchanged phone numbers over Prozac and made out with some comatose guy in the room. We just happened to both be admitted at the same time- her for the suicide attempt, me for severe OCD (more specifically, severe OCD that caused me to freak out and almost burn down the mall).

I'm on medication for that now, by the way, but Azula still coughs every once in a while just to watch me twitch. And she makes it a point to count out loud how many times I touch the doorknob before I leave my apartment. Bitch.

O-o-O-o-O

At the psych ward, we only started talking because she spilled something on me. This was after I told her what I was in for, and so she "accidentally" spilled her water on me. Yeah. I spazzed. I realize now that it was to distract me from asking her why she was detained, and let me tell you, it worked. At least it didn't stain my clothes. It was my favorite outfit.

I found out later that she had been dragged in there by her brother after attempting to slit her wrists (only "attempting" because he broke down the door to the bathroom and caught her with the razors… yes, her whole family is rather crazy, how could you tell?). She was severely depressed because of her anorexia. Also because of her anorexia, she had to stay there a lot longer than I did, but I still left the place with her phone number.

I didn't actually lie before; we exchanged phone numbers over the crappy hospital food and made out in front of her roommate, who is blind. Totally not the same thing.

I had more or less given up on ever seeing her again when, about two months later I got a phone call. In the middle of Calculus, no less. I didn't recognize the number, but I did recognize her voice. Somewhere between a husky purr and a psychotic moan, you know? Not something you forget.

"So, Haru…" she had murmured. "Miss me?"

Actually, I had. She's got weight issues because she's a model, so every time I drove past my apartment, I saw her face on the billboard. Her gorgeous face. The gorgeous face that I had made out with- twice. I may have a lot of girl friends, but I don't get laid a lot, so it was like a slap in the face every time I drove by.

Or, you know, a good hard yank to somewhere much lower. Depended on the day.

After freaking out and almost dropping the phone, I managed to say, "No, not really." Desperate equals bad, ladies. That's the only non-nice guy philosophy I follow.

"Yes you did."

I never said I was good at not sounding desperate and what-not. But I ignored that. "What do you want?"

"Dinner. A movie. A quick fuck in the back of your car."

I paused a moment, to see if she would laugh, but she didn't.

"You still there?"

"Er, yeah… I have a motorcycle, not a car." Lame, yeah, but it was the only thing I could think of to say. I sure as hell wasn't saying no.

Azula purred- literally purred. "That's even better. There's nothing worse than a gearshift jammed into your back. A movie and dinner at your place. Longer liasons on your couch."

Longer was good. Longer was very good. "What time?"

"Free tonight?"

Technically, I was planning to get hammered with my friend Katara and complain- her about her love life, me about my lack of it- but a pretty girl who was totally into me versus a pretty girl who would be like kissing my sister? We'll see which the lower half points to first. "Yeah, absolutely. What time?"

"Eight. It'll take me that long to get unpacked and crap."

I realized then that I was missing one very important thing: her address. "Where do you live?"

"Zuzu can tell you. He goes to your school. He says you have lunch together."

"Oh. Right." We did … except that I usually made it a point to avoid him, since where there was Zuko, there was Jet, and Jet hates me since Katara still talks to me. Zuko's not all that keen on me either. I'm just too cheerful. I'd hate to think how he'd react if he knew I was hoping to sex up his little sister.

"So. Eight. Be late and I'll find some other loser with girly hair to forget you with."

O-o-O-o-O

I'm probably giving you the wrong idea about us- that the whole dating thing is based mostly on sex, not anything else. And for the most part, it is. Or it would be, if we'd actually had sex yet. We've gotten close, but, well… I have issues with screwing a girl when I can count her ribs through her shirt. Not major ones, I just… I dunno, I'm worried I'll break her or something.

I told her that on that movie-and-a-screw date, and she replied, "You're too late, hun. The world already broke me." Thankfully, that was the only time she has ever called me hun. I'd be worried about her otherwise.

And we do talk a lot. She finds me hilarious, and I think she's fascinating. She's crazy and sadistic and a sex fiend, and she's so blasé about it! Little Miss Calm-as-You-Please. Unfortunately, it's really, really hot. She knows it, too. There's a reason she never goes anywhere without that smirk, you know.

What do we talk about? Well, in the psych ward, it was mostly getting to know each other sort of stuff. Like how we were admitted- both forcefully, me by mall security, her by her uncle. We didn't talk much about our issues, though. Azula can't exactly deny that she's anorexic anymore, but she's still tight-lipped about it. In the ward, she told me she wasn't sure why they had dragged her in here- every teen attempts suicide at least once.

Says quite a bit about her, doesn't it?

Anyway, back to my original topic of discussion. I'm getting sick of being a nice guy. I know she doesn't really give a shit about me- she's serious about the "late and I'll find a replacement" policy. Azula's just looking for a bit of entertainment. I wish I could say the same.

See, if I were a bad boy, getting involved with a girl like her wouldn't bother me at all because I'd be just the same- I wouldn't have to worry about… you know, getting attached. And I'd probably be able to worry about getting her bra off instead of making sure she keeps getting help.

But I think I'm stuck caring about her. Damn.

(Azula's side of the story will be out ASAP… review please, even if it's just to say how much you hate my guts…)