The only guy who ever loved me was a psychopath. Of course I didn't know that at the time. I mean it's not like I go around sniffing the bad ones out, looking for weirdo lunatics that I think I can rescue from their troubled lives of torment and poverty and…

Okay wait. That does sound a lot like me. I suppose I have what some might call a bit of a 'Jesus' complex. But that's beside the point. I am a superhero after all. The scum of the earth just gravitates toward me. It's kind of in the job description.

The psychopath was my first and last boyfriend. His name was Sean Johnson and it would take me a millennium to list out all the things that were wrong with him. Whiting hair. Check. Skin condition. Check. Missing tooth. Check. Belief that he was in a past incarnation the all-powerful warlock Ramses… uhh… check.

When I think back on it, I'm not sure our two-month long relationship could be defined as "love." Of course, at the time I thought it was, I would go further to say that I was absolutely 100 sure it was, but then again I was fifteen.

There is just something about being an emo tween and a wimpy little girl, which lends its self to the cultivation of heart-wrenching crushes and otherwise obsessive tendencies.

I can remember lying in my bed in the dark and staring at the ceiling, fantasizing about what it would be like to kiss for the first time, to hold hands, to confide everything in someone else.

I even stole Sean's binder from the English classroom just so I could get a look at his Tom Sawyer essay. And one time during art class I couldn't stop looking at him and his friend asked me if I had a 'staring problem'. No joke – he actually asked me that. I thought I would die.

Looking back, I like to chalk all those humiliating experiences to the influence of hormones. The testosterone makes you horny and the evil estrogen will make you say anything!

Now, I know what you're all thinking. I shouldn't be picky. I'm not attractive enough, special enough, bootylicious enough to turn anyone human, male or female down. But I do have feelings, and sometimes they coincide with reality.

I don't mean to sound all down on myself, because I really am a confident person… at least when it comes to history, english, theatre, music, bringing the dead back to life, you know all those normal, boring things. I have found that I am very deficient in knowledge that would interest anyone who doesn't carry around an extra deck of Magic cards… you know, just in case… or watch Buffy reruns religiously, while playing World of Warcraft.

To those individuals, I am queen, the ultimate in strange and supernatural. To the rest of the known world I am no one. I'm just that girl. The one who's not quite a gothic, but wears a lot of black. Not quite butch, but still a little too masculine. The confusing girl, who is better left forgotten: mysterious in a creepy kind of way, rather than a sexy alluring one.

On the day that I found out about my powers and my troubles began, my friend and I were at Denny's at like two o-clock in the morning, drinking coffee.

My friend Mysti was sipping her over-priced cup of coffee and complaining about her name.

"I mean come on. What kind of name is Mysti? I mean…it's your dog's name for Christ sake…"

"Don't feel bad, " I interrupted, "My parents named the dog Misty before you were even born. She was such a good bitch…"

My friend threw me a nasty look, " Ha ha ha, very funny. Are you even listening to me?"

I rolled my eyes dramatically, cringing inside. Sometimes Mysti reminded me of a pack of rabid cheerleaders.

" I'm still here aren't I? I can always go to the bathroom drown myself in the toilet if you get really boring."

Mysti flipped her hair all shampoo commercial style, with a sexy little nod that came off looking more like she was choking on a chicken bone or coughing up a hairball. She lacked grace enough to pull that kind of move off.

There was silence for a moment, and I stared intently at Mysti, staring intently into her empty mug.

She continued talking without skipping a beat, " I mean, it wouldn't be so bad you know, if like… if like I was really popular and tan and shit and you know…blonde…but my hair is like naturally black right? And my skin's so fricken pasty, you know I would look so ghetto if I dyed it."

"Mysti, your skin is anything but pasty."

"I hate chicks who die their hair blonde when it's so obvious that their natural color is like…"

She stopped mid rant to take a breath and wave down the waitress.

"Could I get a refill?"

The waitress ignored Mysti and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"You know, I don't know why we come to this dump. The service is terrible."

She pushed her mug to the edge of the table.

"Bitch better come back," she snarled and then added for my ears only, "moving your glass to the edge of the table is a signal that you want a refill."

Mysti knew the unspoken language of waitresses. She was always lecturing me on what they like and what they don't like, and the kinds of people they're bound to talk about in the back room. It was all very frightening information. It made me never want to eat out again for fear some one would spit in my soup.

Mysti had been a hostess downtown at Zorba's Greek Gyro's for two years. That made her the authority on everything restaurant. I had worked at McDonald's for 3 months, but apparently that did not make me the authority on fast food.

"That's because we never tip." I commented, eyeing the five dollars on the dirty table in front of us.

"Yea, but that doesn't give them the right to be rude. Oh shit, oh shit…"

"What?" I asked darkly.

Mysti was trying to hide her face behind one of the small plastic dessert menus. It wasn't working. In fact she looked so ridiculous that it was drawing a lot of attention that I'm sure was unwanted.

"That guy over there." she whispered, cringing.

I turned just as a pack of stoned cretins ambled by reaking of smoke and alcohol. One of them was sort of good-looking, so I knew that it couldn't be the one she was talking about. Mysti and I had an infinitely different opinion of what good looking was.

"What happened?"

"We kind of went back to his place to go hot-tubbing…and then one thing led to another you know?"

"I don't, but I get the picture. So…was he big?"

"Ha. Yeah right, tinier than a baby carrot."

"It must be all the pot. Stunts their growth."

"Yeah."

"Which one is he?"

Mysti hesitated.

"Please…don't tell me it's the blonde guy with the mullet and missing teeth."

She smiled and shrank farther down into the booth at the same time, averting her eyes onto the menu.

"Gross." I blurted out impulsively, immediately feeling kind of bad for being so rude. But, Mysti didn't seem to mind.

"God, he looks like he's homeless. How could he even afford a hot tub?"

"It wasn't his."

"He lives with his parents?" I asked incredulously, "He looks like he's at least 25. That's pretty sad don't you think?"

"It wasn't his parents place. It was his Grandma's."

I started laughing, and Mysti threw me an unapproving look.

"Stop. Please you'll draw attention to us."

Yeah right, I thought. No one would ever notice Mysti and I. If we were the last two women on earth, I think all the guys would go gay, on behalf of needing sex, but being so repulsed by us they'd rather screw each other.

We left the restaurant in a rush and scurried off outside, absolutely delighted to have the opportunity to remove the six inches of snow from my windshield which had fallen in the past two hours. Unfortunately with 1977 antique leather interior, it was colder in the cab then it was outside in the snow.

10 minutes passed, and finally the engine was warm enough to roll-over. I grabbed some paper towels and attempted to clean off my headlights. They were un-replaceable and so dim I almost always used my brights.

As I made my way down the road, Mysti chatted on about the guy from Denny's and tried several times to explain to me exactly how small his penis was.

"It's okay. I'm sure I can imagine."

"Seriously. I'm not making it up. This small."

I glared at her and turned back up to watch the road. I was rapidly approaching a stop sign that I hadn't noticed before. I jerked and pushed down the brakes down to the floor. My trash-can-on-wheels skidded dramatically to the side.

"Shit. I can't stop."

It was at that point that I made a very bad decision.