People often told her that they're relieved she didn't join the rest of Girls' Club in their escapade to the Entertainment Capital of the world. They kept saying that joining them would have unraveled what all the years in the program did. That she's resisting temptation, so to speak.

She always resented that notion about her. But the main thing she hated the most was that they treated her like some porcelain doll shattered to miniscule pieces. Some toy needed to be repaired by someone. I'm not broken. Why do they all want to fix me?

Part of her was glad she didn't go, based on the events that transpired those two days and three nights. Yet part of her kept asking, "What if I went to Las Vegas with them?"

If she did, she could have stopped someone from making one of the most stupid decisions of their life, stopped her from marrying a guy she barely even knew, stopped her from thinking that this is the kind of person right for her.

And perhaps, she could have had the guts to escape from a relationship that's already broken before it began, or maybe took that long shot to say those three simple words she wanted to shout at the top of her lungs to. Maybe even give her the family she had always wanted, no matter how twisted and dysfunctional it already was

That person she's talking about? Walking arm in arm with some guy in a flight nurse outfit who told one cheesy pick up line over another. She crinkled her nose at the sight before she went up to the roof.

After she got there, she took a familiar white stick from her pocket and lighted it up before placing it in her mouth. That's the greatest thing about it. One drag and all of a sudden, all the worries blew away along with the nicotine-laden smoke. It's the only thing she could never quit from. No, none of them understand.

She heaved one last sigh as the last of the ash crumbled on the floor a few minutes later. Regrets, why do they always come in the end?