It was just that one day and every day following that I wished more than ever that he was real. Where the **** was he? Sure, I didn’t expect him to crawl down from the building next to us the second I saw the knife, but it was definitely within the “This isn’t happening” part in my head, as I was dragged into the garage and pushed up against the brick wall, that I think he could have managed to creep up and punch that guy in the face. And the stomach, or throw him into the black truck that I was next to. Why wasn’t he showing up? Everybody gets one, right? Why wasn’t this mine? Why did he always show up for Mary Jane? Everybody got one I thought. Even after it was over and the fear was gone and the shock flared through my body, charging me almost to the point of vomiting, I still wanted him there. I've never been so ******* disappointed.