Stella likes to tell people, upon first greeting, first meeting, first fucking handshake, just how damn awful she is.

They’d deny, argue even. No, No, Sweetie, You’re Beautiful and Perfection is a Dream.

Her opening statements are always warnings.

“Run, fast. I fuck up every single relationship.”

They got to know Stella. Slowly.

Somehow.

It’d start to fall together. Her warning were no longer hazardous omens but rather current situations.

The ones you sit back and kick yourself, because you knew, you knew it would happen.

And it did. And Stella was at fault.

They’d throw eveything, every disregardment, back in Stella’s face. She knew. She had told them in the first place.

Remember?

So why did it hurt so goddamn bad, hearing it from someone else?

If she knew.. If she really believed she was horribly and fucking nasty as she promised, then why did they steal her breath with parting words..

Her words. Reassured.