Courtney wasn't nice. That was the bottom line.
There were moments of course, when she slipped on that facade in the presence of people who she deemed important, but to see her being genuinely nice to someone was a rare sight indeed.
"I can be nice!" She would argue, and her boyfriend would roll his eyes in exasperation. They both knew she couldn't. She once made a four year old cry for bumping into her in the park, and accidentally spilling his ice cream all over her.
Then there would be the occasional times when she would actually attempt at the art that was true kindness. She wouldn't snap at the incompetent coffee shop employee, who mixed up her order and gave her a completely different item then the one she requested. She didn't yell or send dirty looks to the fat man in the bookstore who snatched the last copy of a book she'd been waiting to come out for months, right when she was reaching for it. She hadn't thrown something at the just plain rude old man next door, who let his dog go to the bathroom on her lawn without care.
Although, it was inevitable, Courtney could only keep it up for so long. Eventually, she herself would snap, and all hell would break loose.
It was always something minor that would set her off into an angry fit, leaving her nineteen year old boyfriend of two years, Duncan, to get her away from whatever situation triggered the boiling rage within his hot headed girlfriend.
This time, he was on the end of the boiling rage. All because of a shirt...
"Duncan!"Courtney screeched, and he visibly cringed, knowing that particular tone meant she was pissed beyond reason. He considered ducking out the back door, but he knew full well that it would only cause more drama later on.
"What is it, Babe?" He asked, leaning up against the laundry room door casually, where she stood before the washer, a pink blouse held between her fingers. It was odd, he never remembered her owning any pink articles of clothing that weren't undergarments. She said the color was childish and unprofessional, unless the calender informed her it was February fourteenth.
"Do you see what you've done?" She hissed, waving the particular shirt in the air like it was a flag. Or a weapon of mass destruction; he couldn't decide which.
Maybe sneaking out the back door hadn't been such a terrible option, after all...
He just blinked, watching the shirt with little interest, until she finally sighed and dug her hand into the washing machine. Out came a pink pair of capri-pants, then a pink tank top. When she finally pulled out a faded red shirt- his red shirt, it clicked in his mind.
"Oh yeah, I guess red things don't go with whites..." Was all he could muster, as she proceeded to glare holes into him, looking like she was about to attack him like some wild animal. It was very sexy, but also kind of frightening at the same time. He was more used to her throwing a fit involving other people, and he just got the wonderful job of kissing her until she finally calm down and her face turned to it's regular color instead of the bright red hue it took on when she got angry enough.
Now he was at the brunt of it, caught red handed, with no where to run.
It was either do or die. And he didn't feel like dying today.
Taking two swift steps toward her, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her even closer. He felt her breath hitch softly, and he knew he was in the clear. So when he went to speak, it surprised him when she shoved his red shirt as far into his mouth as he could. He coughed and spit it out as his girlfriend ripped herself from his grip and stormed off, muttering something about murder and green mohawks.
It was true, Courtney just wasn't nice.
And yet, he wouldn't love her if she was.