You changed me.

You never will know it, but you changed me.

I was that cocky, tomboyish girl who hated being played with. Still am, just with a soft side I never knew before. Heh, maybe not a girl…an old hag is more fitting.

I've got no one to keep me from calling myself a hag…Nikki is off doing her own thing, and God knows where she is now.

You'd correct me; call me beautiful, even as I wasted away, getting wrinkles and age spots. You'd buy me the most revolutionary skin care products. It improved my looks, but your love for me was sky high and never affected by the outside, as were my feelings for you. I couldn't change that, and I never would.

My memory wastes away, but every moment with you rings clear in my mind. Especially…especially that fateful day that I met you, and was changed forever.

"CASSANDRA."

The redhead girl next to me yells in my ear. I seriously don't know why she brought me to this club. 'Cassandra, you need to get out more, meet a guy! Maybe he'll be the one…!'

The One. The fabled soul mate that you get married to and brag about to your little single friends. The man you love and all that goopy crap. I've pretty much given up hope on him. At 26, I probably haven't met him. Never will. I could become a nun. God is cool, I mean…dude. He's God.

I mean, how many guys are tall, brown-haired, handsome, intelligent, and just amazing? Not many. There's always Daniel, my old school mate, but…I guess MLB got the best of him and he did steroids. Maybe not so intelligent.

"CASSANDRA LIKE SERIOUSLY. LOOK."

I turn my head. Cathryn's been one of my best friends since 5th grade, and I've seen her do some weird stuff, but this takes the cake. She's put pepper, spicy buffalo wing sauce, tomato juice, and a whole crapload of vodka in a tumbler and is chugging it. She's so getting hammered tonight. Thank goodness for Phil, her boyfriend, and his alcohol intolerance. He can't have more than two beers before barfing his guts out. He used to be such a party animal, too…wonder what happened.

He's also fairly loaded, so we got this luxury booth off to the side of the bar half of the club. The other half is the dance floor, and is currently occupied by drunk people and people pretending to be drunk, hoping to get lucky.

"Cathryn, why are we here?" I ask the slender, wasted chick next to me.

"Ta find yew a boiii, duhhh…" she trails off and starts to kiss Phil, slobber all over. I guess he likes it, because he readily kisses her back. I sigh and glance around. Some sluts at the bar, along with a few creepy looking 40-somethings. And of course, the bachelors trying to pick up the sluts.

They can do better. They can choose you.

No. Too superficial, what the heck am I thinking?

As I'm thinking way to hard, I don't notice a man walking in the club and striding over to the bar, ordering a drink. Cathryn and Phil are laughing over something. My legs are crossed. I remember reading something online in 7th grade:

"Generally when women are not comfortable or happy, they cross their legs."

Yup. Truth.

I scan the room again. Some party song is playing.

"OH MY GAWD PHIL. We should…We should go dance."

"In the state you're in? Heh, I'd be lucky to get you to stand up straight."

I haven't stopped scanning the room for something interesting to do. Over the bar…the sluts and bachelors and a…bachelor? Maybe not? He's not flirting, but all the girls are flirting with him, causing the average bachelors to get red-faced and pissed.

Why is he ignoring everyone? I can't put my finger on it, but I recognize him. Heh, maybe he's like me, same personality or something. Are we related?

But no, I really have seen him somewhere. He's slender, wearing a gray dressy shirt with rolled up sleeves, a black vest, and black slacks, which fit him nicely. Honestly, it's similar to my outfit; a black blazer, gray camisole underneath, and a dark gray pencil skirt hitched up to mid thigh at Anna's discretion. He's got brown hair, neatly trimmed, so maybe he has money. Like it matters.

Nothing matters; you want him to notice you.

No I don't. I…ugh.

He seems tall. That's a plus. I was always tall, and I currently am taller than the average American man, which is 5'10". I'm 6' even with an extra three inches added on by my other best friend's choice of heels. Mary Grace has a great fashion sense, and I wish she was here to make this a party, but she's on vacation with her husband.

He emits this aura of command and power, way different from other bachelors. One slut just left the bar. She notices me staring and says, "Sorry, bitch, he's gay since he didn't want any of this. Don't even try." She gestures to her size AA breasts and glares at me, then leaves.

He turns around to survey the crowd, legs crossed, bored expression on his face. I try to remember that face. He casts his eyes over me, moves to someone else…then returns to me. I can feel my heart racing, and I don't even know why. He raises his eyebrows. I raise one (an acquired trait from my old friend Lola), tilt my head back, and feign sleep.

I can hear Cathryn shrieking at Phil and I smirk silently as they run off to dance to a song from 2012. What a fun year that was…After a minute or two, I feel a body plopping next to me on the seat. Probably some bachelor wanting to get in my pants. I wait.

"I assume you're bored."

A deep, manly voice. Ever so familiar, yet I can't tell who it is. I open one eye and start analyzing at the shoes. Gucci. Obviously, there's money there. To the legs. Nice slacks I guess. I don't even linger on the pelvis, I don't care about his junk. The vest is nice, too. This outfit was part of a suit, I can tell. It looks like it needs the coat with it, so I assume he was busy before this. But I have to admit, I love the style of a tie, rolled up sleeves, and vest. Kind of hot, I guess. The shirt shows off his well-toned arms and abdomen. Fit. I reach his face. Seeing him up close helps solve the mystery, but I still can't place the face. He's attractive; I'll have to admit. He's got deep blue eyes that pierce the fair skin of his face. And why is he coming here if he's apparently got money…?

I raise an eyebrow again. "If I were drunk, I could be having a nice time. I am not, therefore I am bored." I wait a half a minute and say, "And you? Those sluts seem to be all over you."

He chuckles, and it seems unnatural, like he doesn't have a lot to laugh about in his life. "Superficiality is not something I'm attracted to." He sips his drink. "I guess this is the time for idle small talk."

I snort in response. "So it is. Seeing as we are approximately the same height, I can't really ask what the weather is like up there." I smirk.

He grins, again, unnatural. "And I can't buy you a drink, seeing as you seem to be loaded here." He gestures with a long arm to the bottles of liquor under the table.

I sigh, enjoying this. "You still can. But I don't want one."

He looks at me, puzzled, and asks the one question all other suitors failed to ask when approaching me, "Why?"

I straighten, uncross my legs (I note at this point that he never had his crossed), and begin a litany of reasons for him not to buy me a drink. He listens intently and interjects with good questions and comments every so often. He's genuinely listening, unlike so many others. I am so surprised, and at the same time, happy.

When I finish, he doesn't wait to give his own list as to why he should buy me a drink. He ultimately doesn't, but it was a good conversation. I've noticed how close he's sitting to me…and I don't move away.

Soon, one of my favorite slow songs starts playing. I lean back and begin humming with my eyes closed as he watches. He stands, holds out his hand to me, and says, "You want to dance?"

I open an eye, look up at him quizzically, and ask, "Why?

He replies with a smile, a dazzling, beautiful smile, "Because you want to."

I stand, take his hand, and he leads me to the dance floor.

We avoid the drunk fools and the lovebirds and settle on a secluded corner, where he places his hand on my real hip, not my ass, which is nice for a change. He grasps my other hand and I place my hand on his shoulder. We aren't too close, nor too far apart. We are forced to lean our heads in close to hear each other over the noise. We discuss things, but after a bit, it gets a little awkward.

He leaned in close again, his face right next to mine, his lips almost brushing my ear. "You seem to like this song," he murmured. "I heard you humming."

I blush, not really knowing why. "Yeah, it's my favorite slow song."

I can feel him smiling against my cheek. "So you have a favorite fast song?"

"I can't ever decide." I stop as the song ends and another dance song comes on. I pull back. "THIS ONE IS!" I grab his wrist, adorned with a Rolex watch and drag him to the front. I yell in his ear, "I always loved this song, follow my lead!"

He looks at me like I'm crazy, but obliges. The song reverberates in my bones, bringing me back to 8th grade dances. It was a staple at any school dance we went to, and I even had it on my mp3 player when I was younger. I still need to hold onto his wrist and half of his hand to guide him through the steps the song spits at us.

To the right four steps, to the left four steps, then four kicks, then you just dance a little. He keeps tripping, but that's ok. I can't help laughing at his awkwardness when it doesn't say what to do. He eventually gets the hang of it and is even moving to the beat during the verses. I apparently don't have a hold of it and trip, pulling something in my foot. He helps me up and guides me to my seat. I don't think Cathryn noticed, thank God.

"I don't think it needs ice. I didn't hurt it badly, just a twinge of pain. Really, I'm fine." I try to say. He ignores me, grabs a napkin and ice from a bucket of champagne, and puts it on my foot.

"If you were any other girl, you'd be crying. But, you're different." He says, crouching on the ground, looking up at me. Those deep, azure eyes…

"I learned not to be a wimp in high school PE. I was always the one getting panic attacks in dodgeball," I explain.

"Panic attacks? Did something traumatic happen to you?" He asks, running a hand through his hair. He moves to the seat next to me again.

I cast my eyes down, thinking about my brother's picture in my wallet.

Nick.

He must have picked up on my sadness and quickly changed the subject. "Your friends seem to be in love. How'd you meet them?"

I grin. "I met Cathryn in 3rd grade, and I moved to her school in 5th grade and we became best friends. She's liked Phil ever since 3rd grade, actually, and he's liked her back. They're so cute together." I can't stop smiling.

We don't really talk for a while, and just listen to the music. Then I bring up a thought. "You said I'm different. What did you mean?" I turn to him.

He looks like I put him on the spot. "Well, you're not having fun. Second, you're not smooshing your body all over me, and I thank you for that. Third, you didn't cry when you got hurt so I would hug you."

You want him to hug you.

Well, I want a hug. I miss my mom, obviously. Her death a few years ago really shook me...

Before I can respond, Phil leads Cathryn back to the seat. She falls asleep on him and he says to me, "Hey, you may want to call a cab. I have no problem with driving you home, but Cathryn wants to stay longer. She's just dozed off and…I don't know. Are you ok with that?" This is code for they are going to make out in the back of his car. I don't fight like I usually do and nod. "Thanks, man."

Mr. Familiar (Gosh darn it, who in the name of all that is good is he?) over here must have heard this, because as I sit back in my seat, he says, "You know, I could take you home. I can call my brother to pick me up anyway." Why is he going home so early? He's been here for like, an hour and it's only 10:30. He must not get out much.

"No, I can't. I can call a cab," I protest.

"I insist. I haven't smiled genuinely in a while. You helped me feel happy. I'll call my brother now." He pulls out his smartphone and taps a number in. I listen to his side of the conversation.

"Hey bro can you – yeah. Uhh…Awful. Um, I…Shut up, y - Ugh. Fine. You know what, screw that. Shut up. See you in a few. FORTY MIL – God I hate you. K thanks bye."

He taps the screen to end the call. I look at him, amused. "Sounds like one big happy family." He cringes, but he recovers. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…" I stop, shut my eyes. "So…when's your bro coming? And what's his name?"

"About five minutes. And call him…Peachfuzz." He snickers. "He loves it." He seems smug, so I just smile and go along with it.

After a bit, and nods to me. We stand up and I let my ice pack fall off my foot. I wave goodbye to Phil and Cathryn and head out the door.

I could never be prepared for what I see next.

A young man, maybe 21, steps out of a shiny black Mercedes. It looks so clean you could eat off of it. The young man, most likely 'Peachfuzz', opens the door for us.

Blue eyes bore into my skull. "Ladies first." I climb in the back, and he follows. I feel my jaw drop as I see the lush interior. I close it as Peachfuzz climbs in the driver seat. I remember to play along.

"So, Peachfuzz." I list off my address and he just glares at us.

"Bro. You suck. A lot."

"Ah, Moki, you underestimate me." He starts laughing.

Moki ignores this and starts to drive to my place. We keep up conversation until we pull up to my apartment. I'm escorted out and up to my room.

I turn around. "Thank you for…tonight, I guess." I frown. "And how, in all this, did I not get your name? My name is Cassandra."

He recoils. "What? I never introduced myself?" he smiles and bows with a flourish. He looks up at me from his bow and says, refreshing my memory of him and imprinting my mind with a name I will never forget:

"Cassandra, I am Seto Kaiba, at your service."