Title: Children Of Eden: If I Could Be Like That
Author: Kaitlyn
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M
I just want to note quickly, mostly in response to one of the reviews that I received, that I understand the displacement of my characters (namely Ross) from the actual characters. No, Ross doesn't really play the guitar. He probably wouldn't voluntarily punch a man twice his size. There IS a reason for me implementing these elements into my story, though. I am very aware that these characters aren't "realistic", in terms of how they are portrayed on "Friends". In case some people didn't notice, this story is called "Children of Eden". This is an illusion to Adam and Eve and their sinful acts in the Garden of Eden in Genesis. There IS a method to the madness. I'm not just butchering the characterization of these kids for fun :-)
If you find this premise too unbelievable or out of character to stomach, well...no one's holding a gun to your head .
Also, I'd like to point out that this story is going to be someone "stream-of-consciousness" simply in the fact that many of the events won't serve an especially important purpose later on. Some will, but others are just my attempts at embodying and recreating the typical ups and downs that go along with the final years of high school. Even as I'm about to graduate from college, those were the most emotional and eventful years of my life. I thought it would be fun to play with these characters and let them experience those things, as well. All in all, it's going to be a somewhat frivolous read. It's ultimate goal is to evoke emotion and empathy, not to necessarily pose life-altering questions or challenge any award-winning novels.
**********************************************************************
"Where the hell could they be?" Ross wondered aloud, realizing for the first time the unbearable sting of smoke that was clouding his eyes. Chandler and his sister had seemingly disappeared altogether from the nightclub.
"I don't know," Rachel managed between besieged coughs, "but I can't breath. We need to get out of here." Ross nodded. Somehow, their metropolitan night of drinking and dancing had headed rapidly downhill, spiraling into a sleazy swarm of sweaty bodies and contaminated air. The club seemed sinister, almost, and Rachel found herself hating it. Her body gravitated towards the exit, but Ross' hand was gripping steadfast to hers. He didn't seem to notice her impending panic attack. He was too busy scanning the room. Suddenly, his eyes found something and focused in.
"They're over by the bar! Come on!" Ross didn't let go of her hand, pulling her behind him through the sea of coldhearted strangers. Once they got closer, it was quite apparent that Monica and Chandler had been having a much better time than them. Their bodies were pushed close together, and they seemed oblivious to the world around them. They were laughing loudly and gesturing dramatically. They were most definitely drunk.
"Come on," Ross shouted in a demanding tone. "We've got to get out of here." Chandler and Monica stared blankly at him, totally unaffected by his words.
"Wha? How come?" Monica asked through slurred speech and slit eyes. This caught Ross' attention immediately, and he jerked his head towards Chandler.
"Dude, you got my sister drunk?" he asked in an accusing tone. Rachel smacked his arm.
"Ross, you just punched a guy! This isn't the time! Come on!" Upon her revelation, Monica and Chandler both turned their gazes back to Ross.
"What!? You punched someone?" Chandler asked. Ross rolled his eyes, grabbing Monica's jacket and tugging on Chandler's shirt sleeve.
"I'll tell you about it later. Come on." With that, the four wove their way in and out of the crowd, blindly heading towards something that may or may have not been the exit. After several minutes of directionless searching, they found the bright neon sign that they'd come in by. They busted out of the front doors, each one taking their respective gasps of fresh air upon reaching the sidewalk.
"Come on, the car's this way," Ross instructed, leading the other 3 rapidly in the direction of the valet parking lot. Once they'd all piled back into the car and pulled into traffic, and after everyone had the time to catch their breath and collect their thoughts, the questions began flying.
"Dude, what the hell was that?" Ross' jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to not say anything out of line about Chandler's irresponsible conduct with his sister. He decided that one fight per night definitely reached his quota. Instead, he would just answered the questions.
"I got in a fight. We had to get out before security found me."
"What?! No, back up. You got in a fight? That doesn't sound a whole lot like you, man. What happened?"
"I don't know. It started off as being nothing, really. This drunken guy stumbled up to our table and asked Rachel to dance. I told him to get lost, which I guess he didn't like too much, so he grabbed her by the arm." Monica, even in her drunken state, spoke up during this portion of the story.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" Rachel remained silent, clinging tightly to Ross' sweatshirt and sitting with her head turned to face the window.
"Anyway, I got up from the booth and told him to let her go, at which point he grabbed her ass. I just...I don't know, I just lost it."
"Geez, man, that's wild!" Chandler seemed more excited about this news that disgusted by it. Ross was outwardly unaffected.
"Let's just not talk about it anymore, okay?"
The remainder of the ride home was spent in silence. Ross clasped tightly to the steering wheel, clenching his jaw against words that were best left unspoken and turning his knuckles white until they went numb. Rachel leaned her head against the window pane, secretly gazing into the eyes of her own reflection, rather than some abstract object in the far-off distance. Monica remained tipsy, but what judgment she had left told her not to break the thick silence. Chandler stared at the back of the seat in front of him with the nagging feeling plaguing him that he had, in some way, let his best friend down that night. The Long Island and Manhattan had never seemed so far apart.
*****************************************************************************
"Hey, about tonight..." Chandler wasn't exactly sure of what words would fit best trailing after those, so he just stopped there. He pulled the shirt he'd been wearing over his head, throwing it on the floor beside Ross' bed and trading it for a plain white t-shirt from his gym bag. Ross hadn't spoken but a handful of words since they'd returned to the house. It was approaching 2 am, and even as the boys got ready for bed, an uncomfortable tension hung between them as heavy as wet clothes on a wire.
"Yeah?" Ross asked, looking at him inquisitively. If Chandler had looked closer, he would have seen that the look had actually been more challenging than inquisitive. He sighed deeply, scratching his head and searching for the words.
"I know I shouldn't have let Monica drink so much. I guess I just forgot that most girls don't hold their liquor as well as us. I feel really bad about it." Ross nodded, still not verbally acknowledging Chandler's apology or even his presence. Chandler became frustrated.
"Come on, man, throw me a bone here. What do you want me to do?"
"Do you like her?" Ross' question was abrupt, particularly so since it was accented by his recent noticeable lack of words.
"What? Do I like who?"
"Monica. Do you like her?" Chandler didn't know what to say. He felt as if this was some sort of test, as Ross was constantly asking such questions that he actually had no interest in knowing the answers to, but rather just wanted to prove a point. He felt trapped- like no answer he provided could possibly be the right one.
"I- I don't know. I mean, she's cute. She's nice..." Chandler chuckled, realizing how immature and childish he was sounding. "What do you mean by 'like her'?" Ross threw down the pair of boxers he'd been holding in his hand.
"Just answer the question, Chandler." His words weren't threatening or demanding. There was no twinge of bitterness or confrontation in his voice. Instead, he sounded almost pleading, as if he were tired of beating around the bush and eager to have his answers so he could move on to whatever else might have been ailing him. Chandler decided to give him his honesty.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." Ross nodded again, but this time not mockingly so.
"Okay, then." Chandler knew that wasn't the end of his statement. He shouldn't be so lucky. "Then take care of her. That's all I ask. If you actually like her, then I can be happy for you, but if you're just trying to get my little sister drunk to get her into the sack..." Chandler cut him off right there, concern filling his face and voice.
"Woah, is that what you think? What, just because she's younger then me? What about you and Rachel, huh? Are you just trying to 'get her into the sack'?" He was surprised to find that he was getting this defensive. Ross took a step towards Chandler, pointing an accusatory finger.
"Watch what you say, Chandler. You know that's not even close to the truth."
"Then watch what you say, alright? Listen, I actually like Monica. I mean, for the first time, I'm really caring about what a girl has to say. When I'm with her, I don't even NOTICE anyone else This is different, okay, man? You're right, I should have taken better care of her tonight, and I won't let anything like that happen again, but it's not fair for you to just assume that my intentions with her are anything but admirable. Because you're wrong." Ross just stood there for a moment, facing off with his friend. He felt like an asshole. He'd unfairly jumped to conclusions based solely on Chandler's past experience with girls. He softened and put a hand on Chandler's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, man. This whole night has been really stressful. I didn't mean to take it out on you. If you like Monica, then that's great, and if she has to be with anyone, then I'm glad it's you." Ross smiled to punctuate his point, and after exchanging a slap on the back, the two boys had forgotten that any dispute had ever existed between them by the time their heads met their pillows.
*****************************************************************************
"Rach, you haven't said anything in almost 2 hours. You're not okay. Now, what's wrong?" The two girls were lying on Monica's bed in their pajamas. Monica had long since given up on early-morning television or any hopes of getting Rachel to actually enjoy the music that she'd been paying on the stereo. Instead, her friend chose to sit stoically on her bed and stare out into the open chasm of darkness that loomed outside her window.
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine." She turned her head just long enough to utter those words before returning her gaze to the window.
"Don't give me that crap. We've been best friends for years, and I KNOW when you're not okay. Tell me what's wrong." She scooted closer to her friend, hoping that the sentiment would provide some sort of subconscious mental support. Rachel sighed deeply, clutching her pillow to her chest.
"It's hard to explain, I guess." That was something, Monica thought. She would work from there.
"Try me."
"I just feel so...dirty." Monica didn't really understand, but she wanted to. If Rachel was talking about her encounter with the anonymous man earlier that evening, she couldn't really figure out what about that would make her feel "dirty".
"Why? Worse could have happened, you know. So the guy touched your ass. Big deal. It was over in like a second and you never have to see him again." Rachel turned to look at her friend, averting her eyes from the window for the second or third time that night.
"I told you it was hard to explain. I don't know why it bothers me so much. It's not like guys haven't touched me before. This just felt...different." Still, Monica wasn't seeing the big picture. What was more, she was becoming a little agitated at what she felt was a severe overreaction to a not-so-complex situation.
"Come on, Rachel, it was no big deal. If it were me, I might have even been flattered." Rachel shot her friend a confused stare that somehow also hinted at enragement.
"What? How could you say that? Monica, this man was disgusting. He was drunk, and huge, and perverted. When he touched me, I felt sick."
"At least he wanted to touch you," Monica murmured underneath her breath.
"What?" Rachel's tone was sharp and biting, and Monica was being less than understanding.
"Come on, Rachel! I know you see all those guys who stare at you when you walk down the hallway. Don't act like you don't know it's happening. There probably isn't a guy at our school who doesn't want to get into your pants. Why can't you just be happy? So what if you have to encounter a few pervs every now and then? I'd give anything to be like that." Rachel shook her head, the beginning of teardrops slowly welling up in her eyes.
"Don't say that," she whispered, letting the streams of wetness streak her face and fall freely onto the pillow that sat on her lap.
"I know it must be pretty hard- being wanted by every guy you meet. That seems like a lot of work." Monica was becoming increasingly bitter and sharp with every word, practically spitting them from her tongue by the end. Rachel was confused. What had she done to deserve this?
"Monica, what's the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with ME? How about what's the matter with YOU? One guy- a COLLEGE guy, no less- grabs your ass and you freak out! God, Rachel, wake up! Don't you realize how many girls would KILL to be you? To look like you?"
"Yeah, that's just it!" Rachel was yelling now, matching Monica in both the strength and volume of her voice. She threw the pillow she'd been holding on the floor. "They want to look like me! Or they want to have sex with me! Or they want to grab my ass! Let's completely forget about the fact that I'm a human being! Until Ross, no guy I'd ever dated even knew my BIRTHDAY! No one asks me what I want to do when I grow up, or what my favorite holiday is, or why I like curly fries more than straight ones! If everyone loves me so goddamn much, Monica, then why can't more then maybe 3 people in our entire school tell me that I like sailing and coffee ice cream?" Monica had nothing to say. She was speechless. Rachel continued.
"Trust me, Monica, you don't want to be me. Forget the hair, and the smile, and the nice clothes, alright? Forget that I've dated half the football team, and that I used to be captain of the cheerleading squad. At the end of the day, I'm just like everyone else, but I don't even have all of the relationships to show for it. I have you and Ross, and that's it. Maybe getting molested by some sleazy pedophile in a smoke-filled nightclub just SCREAMS of glamour and vanity to you, but not to me." Both were quiet for a few moments.
"I- I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." Rachel shook her head and continued to look out the window as if she'd never stopped.
"You don't have to say anything. Just know that..." She turned back to look at her best friend.
"I just wish you knew how beautiful you were."
End Chapter 3. To Be Continued in Chapter 4.
Author: Kaitlyn
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M
I just want to note quickly, mostly in response to one of the reviews that I received, that I understand the displacement of my characters (namely Ross) from the actual characters. No, Ross doesn't really play the guitar. He probably wouldn't voluntarily punch a man twice his size. There IS a reason for me implementing these elements into my story, though. I am very aware that these characters aren't "realistic", in terms of how they are portrayed on "Friends". In case some people didn't notice, this story is called "Children of Eden". This is an illusion to Adam and Eve and their sinful acts in the Garden of Eden in Genesis. There IS a method to the madness. I'm not just butchering the characterization of these kids for fun :-)
If you find this premise too unbelievable or out of character to stomach, well...no one's holding a gun to your head .
Also, I'd like to point out that this story is going to be someone "stream-of-consciousness" simply in the fact that many of the events won't serve an especially important purpose later on. Some will, but others are just my attempts at embodying and recreating the typical ups and downs that go along with the final years of high school. Even as I'm about to graduate from college, those were the most emotional and eventful years of my life. I thought it would be fun to play with these characters and let them experience those things, as well. All in all, it's going to be a somewhat frivolous read. It's ultimate goal is to evoke emotion and empathy, not to necessarily pose life-altering questions or challenge any award-winning novels.
**********************************************************************
"Where the hell could they be?" Ross wondered aloud, realizing for the first time the unbearable sting of smoke that was clouding his eyes. Chandler and his sister had seemingly disappeared altogether from the nightclub.
"I don't know," Rachel managed between besieged coughs, "but I can't breath. We need to get out of here." Ross nodded. Somehow, their metropolitan night of drinking and dancing had headed rapidly downhill, spiraling into a sleazy swarm of sweaty bodies and contaminated air. The club seemed sinister, almost, and Rachel found herself hating it. Her body gravitated towards the exit, but Ross' hand was gripping steadfast to hers. He didn't seem to notice her impending panic attack. He was too busy scanning the room. Suddenly, his eyes found something and focused in.
"They're over by the bar! Come on!" Ross didn't let go of her hand, pulling her behind him through the sea of coldhearted strangers. Once they got closer, it was quite apparent that Monica and Chandler had been having a much better time than them. Their bodies were pushed close together, and they seemed oblivious to the world around them. They were laughing loudly and gesturing dramatically. They were most definitely drunk.
"Come on," Ross shouted in a demanding tone. "We've got to get out of here." Chandler and Monica stared blankly at him, totally unaffected by his words.
"Wha? How come?" Monica asked through slurred speech and slit eyes. This caught Ross' attention immediately, and he jerked his head towards Chandler.
"Dude, you got my sister drunk?" he asked in an accusing tone. Rachel smacked his arm.
"Ross, you just punched a guy! This isn't the time! Come on!" Upon her revelation, Monica and Chandler both turned their gazes back to Ross.
"What!? You punched someone?" Chandler asked. Ross rolled his eyes, grabbing Monica's jacket and tugging on Chandler's shirt sleeve.
"I'll tell you about it later. Come on." With that, the four wove their way in and out of the crowd, blindly heading towards something that may or may have not been the exit. After several minutes of directionless searching, they found the bright neon sign that they'd come in by. They busted out of the front doors, each one taking their respective gasps of fresh air upon reaching the sidewalk.
"Come on, the car's this way," Ross instructed, leading the other 3 rapidly in the direction of the valet parking lot. Once they'd all piled back into the car and pulled into traffic, and after everyone had the time to catch their breath and collect their thoughts, the questions began flying.
"Dude, what the hell was that?" Ross' jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to not say anything out of line about Chandler's irresponsible conduct with his sister. He decided that one fight per night definitely reached his quota. Instead, he would just answered the questions.
"I got in a fight. We had to get out before security found me."
"What?! No, back up. You got in a fight? That doesn't sound a whole lot like you, man. What happened?"
"I don't know. It started off as being nothing, really. This drunken guy stumbled up to our table and asked Rachel to dance. I told him to get lost, which I guess he didn't like too much, so he grabbed her by the arm." Monica, even in her drunken state, spoke up during this portion of the story.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" Rachel remained silent, clinging tightly to Ross' sweatshirt and sitting with her head turned to face the window.
"Anyway, I got up from the booth and told him to let her go, at which point he grabbed her ass. I just...I don't know, I just lost it."
"Geez, man, that's wild!" Chandler seemed more excited about this news that disgusted by it. Ross was outwardly unaffected.
"Let's just not talk about it anymore, okay?"
The remainder of the ride home was spent in silence. Ross clasped tightly to the steering wheel, clenching his jaw against words that were best left unspoken and turning his knuckles white until they went numb. Rachel leaned her head against the window pane, secretly gazing into the eyes of her own reflection, rather than some abstract object in the far-off distance. Monica remained tipsy, but what judgment she had left told her not to break the thick silence. Chandler stared at the back of the seat in front of him with the nagging feeling plaguing him that he had, in some way, let his best friend down that night. The Long Island and Manhattan had never seemed so far apart.
*****************************************************************************
"Hey, about tonight..." Chandler wasn't exactly sure of what words would fit best trailing after those, so he just stopped there. He pulled the shirt he'd been wearing over his head, throwing it on the floor beside Ross' bed and trading it for a plain white t-shirt from his gym bag. Ross hadn't spoken but a handful of words since they'd returned to the house. It was approaching 2 am, and even as the boys got ready for bed, an uncomfortable tension hung between them as heavy as wet clothes on a wire.
"Yeah?" Ross asked, looking at him inquisitively. If Chandler had looked closer, he would have seen that the look had actually been more challenging than inquisitive. He sighed deeply, scratching his head and searching for the words.
"I know I shouldn't have let Monica drink so much. I guess I just forgot that most girls don't hold their liquor as well as us. I feel really bad about it." Ross nodded, still not verbally acknowledging Chandler's apology or even his presence. Chandler became frustrated.
"Come on, man, throw me a bone here. What do you want me to do?"
"Do you like her?" Ross' question was abrupt, particularly so since it was accented by his recent noticeable lack of words.
"What? Do I like who?"
"Monica. Do you like her?" Chandler didn't know what to say. He felt as if this was some sort of test, as Ross was constantly asking such questions that he actually had no interest in knowing the answers to, but rather just wanted to prove a point. He felt trapped- like no answer he provided could possibly be the right one.
"I- I don't know. I mean, she's cute. She's nice..." Chandler chuckled, realizing how immature and childish he was sounding. "What do you mean by 'like her'?" Ross threw down the pair of boxers he'd been holding in his hand.
"Just answer the question, Chandler." His words weren't threatening or demanding. There was no twinge of bitterness or confrontation in his voice. Instead, he sounded almost pleading, as if he were tired of beating around the bush and eager to have his answers so he could move on to whatever else might have been ailing him. Chandler decided to give him his honesty.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." Ross nodded again, but this time not mockingly so.
"Okay, then." Chandler knew that wasn't the end of his statement. He shouldn't be so lucky. "Then take care of her. That's all I ask. If you actually like her, then I can be happy for you, but if you're just trying to get my little sister drunk to get her into the sack..." Chandler cut him off right there, concern filling his face and voice.
"Woah, is that what you think? What, just because she's younger then me? What about you and Rachel, huh? Are you just trying to 'get her into the sack'?" He was surprised to find that he was getting this defensive. Ross took a step towards Chandler, pointing an accusatory finger.
"Watch what you say, Chandler. You know that's not even close to the truth."
"Then watch what you say, alright? Listen, I actually like Monica. I mean, for the first time, I'm really caring about what a girl has to say. When I'm with her, I don't even NOTICE anyone else This is different, okay, man? You're right, I should have taken better care of her tonight, and I won't let anything like that happen again, but it's not fair for you to just assume that my intentions with her are anything but admirable. Because you're wrong." Ross just stood there for a moment, facing off with his friend. He felt like an asshole. He'd unfairly jumped to conclusions based solely on Chandler's past experience with girls. He softened and put a hand on Chandler's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, man. This whole night has been really stressful. I didn't mean to take it out on you. If you like Monica, then that's great, and if she has to be with anyone, then I'm glad it's you." Ross smiled to punctuate his point, and after exchanging a slap on the back, the two boys had forgotten that any dispute had ever existed between them by the time their heads met their pillows.
*****************************************************************************
"Rach, you haven't said anything in almost 2 hours. You're not okay. Now, what's wrong?" The two girls were lying on Monica's bed in their pajamas. Monica had long since given up on early-morning television or any hopes of getting Rachel to actually enjoy the music that she'd been paying on the stereo. Instead, her friend chose to sit stoically on her bed and stare out into the open chasm of darkness that loomed outside her window.
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine." She turned her head just long enough to utter those words before returning her gaze to the window.
"Don't give me that crap. We've been best friends for years, and I KNOW when you're not okay. Tell me what's wrong." She scooted closer to her friend, hoping that the sentiment would provide some sort of subconscious mental support. Rachel sighed deeply, clutching her pillow to her chest.
"It's hard to explain, I guess." That was something, Monica thought. She would work from there.
"Try me."
"I just feel so...dirty." Monica didn't really understand, but she wanted to. If Rachel was talking about her encounter with the anonymous man earlier that evening, she couldn't really figure out what about that would make her feel "dirty".
"Why? Worse could have happened, you know. So the guy touched your ass. Big deal. It was over in like a second and you never have to see him again." Rachel turned to look at her friend, averting her eyes from the window for the second or third time that night.
"I told you it was hard to explain. I don't know why it bothers me so much. It's not like guys haven't touched me before. This just felt...different." Still, Monica wasn't seeing the big picture. What was more, she was becoming a little agitated at what she felt was a severe overreaction to a not-so-complex situation.
"Come on, Rachel, it was no big deal. If it were me, I might have even been flattered." Rachel shot her friend a confused stare that somehow also hinted at enragement.
"What? How could you say that? Monica, this man was disgusting. He was drunk, and huge, and perverted. When he touched me, I felt sick."
"At least he wanted to touch you," Monica murmured underneath her breath.
"What?" Rachel's tone was sharp and biting, and Monica was being less than understanding.
"Come on, Rachel! I know you see all those guys who stare at you when you walk down the hallway. Don't act like you don't know it's happening. There probably isn't a guy at our school who doesn't want to get into your pants. Why can't you just be happy? So what if you have to encounter a few pervs every now and then? I'd give anything to be like that." Rachel shook her head, the beginning of teardrops slowly welling up in her eyes.
"Don't say that," she whispered, letting the streams of wetness streak her face and fall freely onto the pillow that sat on her lap.
"I know it must be pretty hard- being wanted by every guy you meet. That seems like a lot of work." Monica was becoming increasingly bitter and sharp with every word, practically spitting them from her tongue by the end. Rachel was confused. What had she done to deserve this?
"Monica, what's the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with ME? How about what's the matter with YOU? One guy- a COLLEGE guy, no less- grabs your ass and you freak out! God, Rachel, wake up! Don't you realize how many girls would KILL to be you? To look like you?"
"Yeah, that's just it!" Rachel was yelling now, matching Monica in both the strength and volume of her voice. She threw the pillow she'd been holding on the floor. "They want to look like me! Or they want to have sex with me! Or they want to grab my ass! Let's completely forget about the fact that I'm a human being! Until Ross, no guy I'd ever dated even knew my BIRTHDAY! No one asks me what I want to do when I grow up, or what my favorite holiday is, or why I like curly fries more than straight ones! If everyone loves me so goddamn much, Monica, then why can't more then maybe 3 people in our entire school tell me that I like sailing and coffee ice cream?" Monica had nothing to say. She was speechless. Rachel continued.
"Trust me, Monica, you don't want to be me. Forget the hair, and the smile, and the nice clothes, alright? Forget that I've dated half the football team, and that I used to be captain of the cheerleading squad. At the end of the day, I'm just like everyone else, but I don't even have all of the relationships to show for it. I have you and Ross, and that's it. Maybe getting molested by some sleazy pedophile in a smoke-filled nightclub just SCREAMS of glamour and vanity to you, but not to me." Both were quiet for a few moments.
"I- I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." Rachel shook her head and continued to look out the window as if she'd never stopped.
"You don't have to say anything. Just know that..." She turned back to look at her best friend.
"I just wish you knew how beautiful you were."
End Chapter 3. To Be Continued in Chapter 4.
