"Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!"
— Oscar Wilde
April 23rd, 2018
"You're smiling like a dork." A masculine voice interrupted the girl's fantasy, making her stand straighter. Her smile, however, did not waver. "Did you finally find that limited edition of The Hobbit you were looking for?"
Dove and Peter were lounging on the tiny loveseat in the corner of the room, watching what sounded like a horror movie—if the blood-curdling screams were any indication—on Dove's laptop. Even sitting, Peter appeared tall, with his long legs perched on the coffee table, taking up most of the space. His light brown hair skimmed the top of his ears, and his lips stretched into a lazy grin.
Peter often spent his days at their dorm, wanting to be as close to Dove as possible. The two were still in their honeymoon phase—had been since they got together, and were constantly attached to each other. It was something the girl could never have but always wanted… until now. Now, her ideal life seemed a bit closer than before. Close enough to see and maybe skim teasingly with the tip of her fingers.
It was laughable to think that when the girl and Peter first met, he inexplicitly asked her out, then Dove strutted in through the door of the café, loudly cursing one of her professors out.
Peter liked to think it was love at first sight. Dove did as well, though she pretended not to.
What first felt awkward and uncomfortable was now as normal as the colour of the sky. The girl considered Peter a brother and Dove a sister.
Dove pushed Peter's arm away from her shoulders and sat up to properly look at her friend. "No," she smirked mischievously, "she's smiling because her date went well."
The girl bit her lips harder to stop from giggling like a schoolgirl. She wrapped her arms around her waist and plopped down on the rocking chair across from her friends.
"Tell me I'm right!" Dove demanded excitedly, shouting in earnest when she received a shy nod.
"Date? Who went on a date?" Peter questioned.
Both girls burst into giggles, unable to hold back their excitement. "I did! Can you believe it?"
"What?" Peter's eyes widened almost comically. "When?"
"Would you like to know the where and why too?" Dove snarked.
"Yeah, and don't forget the who!" Peter hissed, making Dove roll her eyes.
"When?" the girl replied. "Just now. And where? The Lounge on Discovery Street. Why?... because he asked me." She burst into another round of giggles.
"Who asked you?" Peter demanded impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground, his chest puffed unnaturally in a display of robust manliness. "I wanna see him."
Dove snorted at his reaction. "Alright, you can drop the big brother act. It doesn't suit you."
Peter ignored her, averting all his attention to the girl. "Who?" he repeated.
She took a deep breath, trying and failing miserably to keep the excitement from her voice. "Nathan."
"Choi?" Peter's face seemed to relax. "He's a cool guy. I cheated off of him for my International Relations midterm."
The girl made a face. "But he took Abnormal Psychology with me. I remember because he did a presentation about Project Monarch, and a guy started crying during it."
Dove snapped her fingers. "You didn't sleep at all that week. We built a fort in my room and binge-watched Harry Potter!"
"He used visuals! It was scary!" She shook her head. It didn't matter. "He couldn't have taken International Relations with you if he was busy traumatizing Abnormal Psychology."
Peter scratched the back of his head. "I failed it last semester. So I had to retake it."
The girls stared at him in shock. Peter had never failed a class before.
"The course never made sense to me!" Peter defended. "Choi did me a solid by turning his paper toward me when he noticed me peeking. He'll take good care of you. I promise."
Dove broke out of her shock first by snorting in disbelief. "She didn't go out with Nathan Choi."
"Then?"
"I went with Nathan Acosta," the girl answered.
Peter went deathly still the second she finished speaking. "What?" he gritted out, though the girls seemed oblivious to the tension festering inside him.
"You know him," chimed Dove. "He's on the Hockey team."
"You went out with Nathan Acosta?" Peter clarified.
"Yes," she told him.
"Acosta? Not Choi?"
Gradually, the girl noticed the tenseness in her friend's jaw, and the anger in his eyes. She swallowed hard. "I'm going out with him again. Tomorrow."
Dove screeched with happiness, bouncing on the couch like a little kid, but Peter only became bolder and more assertive. "No, you're not," he told her.
"What?" the girl asked in confusion.
"You're not going out with him."
Even Dove was confused and had no words for once.
"What do you mean?" The girl asked with a nervous laugh.
"He's bad news, Kitty. Acosta's not a good guy," Peter explained.
"Bullshit," Dove finally spoke up. "He's my friend. He doesn't have a single bad bone in his body."
Peter grit his teeth together. "That's what he wants you to think. He's an asshole."
"Right, because you two are such good friends," Dove said sarcastically. "You would know his character."
"You think I'm lying?" Peter snapped, patience running thin. "Why the fuck would I do that?"
"The fuck am I supposed to know? You got in a stupid fight with him last year. Maybe you're still pissed."
"What fight?" the girl asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Dove replied, "it was just a misunderstanding."
Peter scoffed. "It wasn't a fucking misunderstanding. That fucker knew exactly what he was doing."
Voices got loud, the language offensive, and the girl couldn't help but feel that her friends were keeping something important from her. Dove and Peter bickered back and forth, exchanging harsh opinions and degrading each other.
"What did he do!?" the girl exploded. She was the quiet one, always composed and level-headed, so to witness her screaming in frustration caused both of her friends to trail off in silence.
"Acosta made a pass at Dove," Peter said evenly. "He implied she would spread her legs for anything that moved."
Dove scoffed with indignation. She was not shy about her endeavours and found pleasure with a string of various lovers before meeting Peter. "Nathan's a harmless flirt," she insisted. "And he jokes about everything. He used to sleep around, but he's changed. He had a serious girlfriend, but she moved, and he couldn't do the long-distance." Dove turned to the girl. "I wouldn't have encouraged you to go out with him if I thought he would hurt you," she swore.
That couldn't be right. Could it?
"Marilyn?" The girl demanded desperately.
"What?"
"The girlfriend," she explained. "Was her name Marilyn?" The girl swallowed nervously.
"Yeah."
Oh.
"Why are you asking?" Peter inquired suspiciously.
"No reason," she lied, speaking calmly while her heart broke in half.
Still, her friends insisted on an explanation. She denied them with a shake of her head, unable to voice what was bothering her.
"She's the one who broke it off," Dove explained, thinking her friend was put off by a clingy ex. "Nathan wasn't too upset and got over it quickly."
Peter scoffed from beside Dove, but she ignored him. "He doesn't have any baggage you need to worry about."
"It's not that," the girl insisted.
"Then?" Peter questioned softly.
The answer was right at the tip of her tongue, but saying it aloud would make it real. "Nathan lied to me," she admitted quietly, then recounted to them her earlier conversation. "Why would he do that?" Her voice wobbled, on the edge of tears.
"Because he's a son of a bitch," Peter grumbled.
"That asshole." Dove readily admitted her mistake, consoling her friend, and the three decided that Nathan was indeed bad news and that the girl would stay away from him. "He doesn't fucking deserve a kind soul like you."
She wiped away hot tears as she went to bed, feeling completely and utterly alone. Perhaps that was how it was meant to be, and that was how she would die, with no one to call her own.
April 24th, 2018
Her brother introduced her to Jim Hawkins when she was six years old. Granted, many could say she was too young to be exposed to such violent storytelling, she immediately fell in love with Treasure Island. It was terrifying, scary, and the vivid imagery kept her up at night, but the allure was too strong.
She begged her brother to read it to her whenever he visited. He would laugh, warn her that he wouldn't comfort her after (though he always ended up doing so) and read to her in an embarrassing English accent.
He always teased that she would become a pirate when she was older, but it was he who was obsessed. Perhaps he was jealous of young Jim Hawkins and the freedom he had. Eventually, his obsession transferred from Jim to Jim's creator. Robert Louis Stevenson this, and Robert Louis Stevenson that.
Her brother became a sort of walking encyclopedia on the matter. He walked around spewing information left and right. There was not much she remembered. As a child, she was uninterested in anything that didn't involve stories of impossible feats and adventures. She did not care why Robert Louis Stevenson wrote Treasure Island, only that he did.
One thing, however, became ingrained in her mind. Her brother chanted it like a mantra. "Sooner or later, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences." She did not understand it then, yet she still opted to recite it with him in her squeaky little voice, over and over again, until she had it memorized. It wasn't until she was much older when she realized that, no, Robert Louis Stevenson did not quote it, and no, it was not about flower arrangements.
It was about actions and their consequences; every action has one. Most times, the consequences of our actions are inconsequential; they rarely affect anything else, but other times, one choice leads to another, and another, and so on, until one can't recognize where anything begins or ends.
Nathan Acosta was a choice—a bad one—and the girl couldn't have known that by saying yes to a date with him, she was setting off a series of events that would affect the course of her life. After all, no one thinks twice before crossing the street; arriving a few minutes late to class isn't life or death, and one date doesn't set your fate in stone.
Not usually, anyway.
"We should go to the party," Dove proclaimed. She was furious, having introduced Nathan to her friend, only to have it conclude with the girl in tears. "Take his ego down a peg or two."
The answer was obvious, was it not? A simple, no, thank you. It was better to keep her distance from him; better to ignore Nathan outright rather than to tease him with her presence and risk further embarrassment. But she was furious. God, was she furious!
It wasn't an emotion well known to her. Even as a little girl, she was never prone to outbursts of temper—but then again, she was never targeted in such a way before.
The girl had a choice to make. No, was the obvious answer. It was what she meant to say. Dove would encourage her to rethink her decision, "You'll feel better once you give him a piece of your mind. Show him you're not one to mess with," but would ultimately leave her be. Never again would the topic be brought up.
No, was the only answer. Instead, the girl said, "yes," and they spent the next couple of hours getting ready.
She shone in the mirror. Looking at her reflection, the girl didn't recognize the person staring back at her. This person was strong and confident. She stood tall and smiled prettily, turning her head this way, and that, to admire herself better.
This person was not her. She, who stumbled over words and cried herself to sleep. Who believed the kind words of a lying man only because she felt cold at night and wished for a warm body to lay against.
The girl was not the person who stared back at her in her reflection. But she wanted to be.
Her hair was styled daintily, and her features had been enhanced with makeup. Her lashes were longer, her lips were fuller, and her eyes were brighter. The fabric of her dress was silky against her skin and fit perfectly. It showed a bit more chest than she was comfortable with but was longer than she had been expecting. She took a deep breath and tucked some loose hair behind her ears. Here goes nothing.
The girl wobbled out of the washroom on shaky legs, still adjusting to the uncomfortable heels Dove lent her. Dove shrieked when the girl finally revealed herself. "Oh! You look hot!" She was wearing something similar, shorter, with a different material and style, but the same colour.
"You look beautiful, Dove."
Dove posed dramatically, one arm in the air and over her head, bent at the elbow, the other placed under her chest, emphasizing the size of her breasts. "Hot enough to get some?" she asked, laughing when the girl stuttered. "Come here." Dove gave her friend a pair of earrings and a small purse to keep her phone in. "Wait, let me take a selfie. Ready?" she asked.
"No," the girl murmured after the flash went off. She wasn't talking about the picture. "No, I'm not." She fixed the straps of her dress and licked her dry lips. "Let's go."
The Delta Kappa Epsilon house, located on the edge of campus, was precisely how she imagined a fraternity to look. Loud and congested, it felt as if the entire student population had forced itself into the two-story landmark. Music blared from speakers placed varyingly across the space, making it hard for her to hear her friend.
Dove shouted unintelligible words in her ear.
"What?" the girl screamed back.
"I said! Do you see Nathan anywhere?"
"No, I don't need to use the washroom!" the girl shook her head. "But we should keep an eye out for Nathan!"
"I thought so too!" Dove misunderstood. "I'm thirsty. Let's go!"
Dove walked the two of them to the back of the house, near the kitchen. "Drink?" she asked loudly, wincing at her volume. "Shit, were we screaming out there?"
The girl nodded sympathetically. "I think so. The music's very loud."
"Right, well…" Dove moved into the kitchen, and the girl followed. "Pick your poison."
"You think they have champagne?" she asked incredulously.
"Somehow, I doubt that," Dove pouted.
The girl barely drank and was picky on the few occasions she did. Not like she had many options. She had an extremely low tolerance and hated the taste of beer. So, champagne it was.
"Frats don't really fuck with bubbles. There's tequila, though."
The girl shrugged. A little liquid courage would have helped, but she wasn't planning on drinking anyway. "No thanks."
"Suit yourself," Dove winked, throwing a shot of tequila back, wincing as the liquid burned going down her throat. "Ah, fuck!" she suddenly exclaimed, staring at something behind her friend's head. "What is he doing here?"
"Who?" the girl clamoured, twisting her neck to look. Upon realizing who had just entered the kitchen of Delta Kappa Epsilon house, the girl let out a meek little screech and fell to her hands and knees behind the kitchen island.
"Why are you hiding?" Dove asked in a panic, dropping down next to her friend.
"Why am I—Why are you hiding?!" the girl stage whispered.
"Because I promised I wouldn't do anything stupid, and I'm doing something stupid," Dove whispered back.
"You promised Nathan you wouldn't do anything stupid?" the girl questioned incredulously.
"Nathan? No, I'm talking about Peter. Wait!—"
"Peter's here?—" "Nathan's here?—" the girls spoke over each other.
"Dove," the girl said in a hushed tone, "I think we should leave. This was a bad idea."
What was she thinking? She was going to show up to Nathan's party and do what? She didn't have the guts to confront him about his deception and was sure he wouldn't come clean by himself.
"What? No!" Dove exclaimed. "First of all, all three of us promised we wouldn't go to the party, so if Peter's here, he broke his promise and can't be mad at us for breaking ours. Secondly, Nathan is a little bitch for lying to you about his ex, and he deserves the embarrassment I'm going to cause him soon." Dove extended her hand toward the girl. "So, what do you say? We either do this together or not at all!"
"I don't…" she trailed off when she heard footsteps next to their hiding place, and she peeked her head past the island to get a quick look.
"Okay," the girl squeaked hastily and shook Dove's hand when she saw Peter enter the kitchen to grab a drink.
Ignoring her friend's warning, Dove stood up from behind the island, pulling her friend with her. "Great! All we need now is a…" Dove stood startled for only a few seconds before launching herself into her boyfriend's arms. "Peter! I w-was just looking for you."
Peter voiced his surprise with a stutter and was just about to confront the two girls when Dove grabbed him by his face and pulled him in for a searing kiss, effectively shutting him up.
Peter was fiercely protective of those he cared about and would not listen to reason if he thought he was in the right. As it was, Dove and she had lied to Peter about their plans for the night, and she could not face him with a guilty conscience.
Peter broke free from Dove's lips, sucking in heaps of much-needed air. "What are—"
And that was all he managed to say before Dove muttered a breathy, "shut up," and pulled him back in.
Her right arm left his body to wave wildly behind her, signalling her friend to run. The girl listened obediently and retreated quietly to the main room, where music was blasting and bodies were grinding suggestively on what looked to be a makeshift dance floor.
Like a deer in headlights, she froze, wondering what to do next. This was new territory for her—a house party. From what she knew, it involved a lot of drinking and making out, neither of which the girl was interested in. Should she dance? No, she decided, she would stick out like a sore thumb.
Slowly, she created a plan in her mind. Step one: Find Nathan (it was what she was here for in the first place). Step two… What was step two? Approach him? Talk to him? What was she supposed to do?
Dove had planned everything already; the girl was just tagging along. She prepared some great scheme last night to make Nathan cry in front of all his buddies. Something that involved one of the girls from the debate club, two pies—one apple, one blueberry—swimming goggles, and some other wildly random object the girl couldn't quite remember.
Someone bumped into her, pushing her onto the dance floor, making her stumble over her feet. Stupid heels. She held onto a random girl to regain her balance, some preppy cheerleader type with blue lashes and bleached brows.
"Watch it!"
The girl was pushed this way and that, unable to keep up with the fast tempo of whatever new hit was currently playing.
Hands grabbed her from all sides, which she tried to evade, though, eventually, one of them landed. They began to drag her away from the dance floor and toward the front door. She dug her heels into the tiled floor and whipped her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of the person holding her captive.
"Hey!" a voice shouted, garnering the attention of everyone in her immediate vicinity. The hand around her waist dropped, making her think she had imagined it. "Kitty!"
Nathan Acosta pushed through the now small crowd—small, because they all parted for him like the Red Sea—and stopped in front of the girl.
"You came!" he exclaimed with relief. "Let's go somewhere quiet?"
She would've denied him if it weren't for their surroundings. People were staring, whispering, wondering what the captain of the hockey team was doing talking to a girl like her. She, too, had wondered the same but chose to ignore the answer, that, no, he would not be talking to a girl like her. Now, look where that got her.
The girl nodded reluctantly, not wanting to be alone with Nathan but not wanting to be surrounded by a crowd either. Nathan guided her toward the stairs and took her to a large room. Hockey memorabilia decorated the white walls and the dresser, but the space was otherwise empty, save for a double bed pushed to one corner. She paused at the door, but Nathan encouraged her inside. "I just wanna talk."
The girl kept her eyes trained on the ground as she sat down on the soft comforter. "What did you wanna talk about?" she was going to ask, but Nathan beat her to it.
"I have a confession to make," he blurted, interrupting the girl's intense staring match with the black carpet.
"What?"
He looked nervous. He was biting his lip and tapping his foot on the ground, almost to the point of annoyance. "I lied to you about something. Something I shouldn't have lied about, and now I regret it."
Her heart thrummed in her ears. "What did you lie about?"
Nathan shook his head and breathed out in exasperation. "Before I tell you, you have to know that it was because you scared me."
The girl blinked slowly. She scared Nathan? That couldn't be right.
"You scared me to death, Kitty. I mean, you're so different from any of the girls I've been with before that nothing I normally do seemed to work with you. I brag about a game I won or a scout I impressed? They eat it all up. I shower them with compliments? They melt right at the spot. But you?…"
Nathan ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. "Nothing I did impressed you. So I panicked."
"But you never panic!" the girl exclaimed, overcome by the admission.
"I know. You made me panic, Kitty." And he gazed at her with such intensity that she had to avert her eyes. "I wasn't cheated on. And it was shitty of me to say that I was. Marilyn was—well, she wasn't perfect, but she was good to me and didn't deserve to have her name slandered."
The girl listened in awe. Just earlier, she figured Nathan would never admit to his deception, but here he was, proving her wrong. It was an incredibly selfless and brave thing to do.
"I, uh, talked to her after our date. She's in California on a volleyball scholarship and dating some hotshot lawyer." He chuckled, and the girl couldn't help but match him.
Nathan smiled. "Made you laugh."
She burned under his stare. It was concerning, the effect he had on her. He wasn't anywhere close! Perched on a small chair across the room, but still able to leave her breathless.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For telling me the truth."
"No. Thank you," Nathan insisted, "for giving an asshole like me a few minutes of your precious time."
A pang of sudden guilt wracked the girl's frame. Nathan was so sincerely apologizing and being grateful for her presence… yet she had arrived with ill intentions. She came to Delta Kappa Epsilon house with the objective of revenge, only to find out revenge wasn't needed.
"Can I grab you a drink?"
She said yes because it was the least she could do. "You wouldn't have champagne by any chance, would you?" she tried again.
Nathan grinned. "Champagne? Nah, but I'll keep that in mind for next time."
Her heart fluttered at the promise of a next time.
"How about a beer?"
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't care for it. It makes me sick. How about a water instead? I have a low tolerance anyways."
Nathan seemed to contemplate her words for a moment, nodding. "Do you trust me?"
Trust. It didn't come easily to her, but something about Nathan put her at ease. "I trust you."
He left with a smile and the promise of only taking a couple of minutes, leaving the girl in comfortable silence. The heavy bass from the music playing downstairs could still be heard faintly, though not enough to disturb her peace. She decided to use the opportunity to familiarize herself with her surroundings.
Posters of famous hockey players were displayed across the wall—no one that she was familiar with—labelled in big, dark, block letters.
WAYNE GRETZKY — CENTERMAN
BOBBY ORR — DEFENSEMAN
JOHNNY GAUDREAU — LEFT WING
SIDNEY CROSBY — CENTERMAN
Smaller posters took up space along the far wall, helping add a splash of colour to the otherwise bland room. The girl walked along the dresser, trailing a finger over the various awards and medals. One thing was for sure, Nathan was determined to gain success in his field, and that was something she greatly admired.
A slight commotion out in the hall caused her to suspend her exploration. The door opened, and Nathan walked in with two drinks in his hands, clearly upset over something.
"Is everything all right?" The girl self-consciously wrapped her arms around her chest—unknowingly putting her cleavage on display.
Nathan made a show of looking her over. Starting from her heel-clad feet to her prettily made hair—stopping for longer than was appropriate on her chest, though she did not notice. His frown seemed to fade as he took her in.
She felt herself burning under his gaze. Felt her heart beating out of her chest. Her palms were sweaty, and her mouth was dry. It was everything she had read about and nothing she had ever experienced. What was she feeling?
"Nathan?" she croaked, effectively breaking him out of his stupor.
Nathan shook his head but kept a short smile on his face. "Yeah, it was just the guys being assholes."
"What were they saying?"
Nathan's smile turned into a full grin, and he closed the distance between them. "They wanted a look at the pretty girl in my room."
Oh. Oh.
Nathan Acosta thought she was pretty. The girl was sure he had paid her a similar compliment before, but it hadn't meant anything then. Now? Now it meant everything.
Nathan saved the girl from the trouble of having to reply by handing over her drink. Her eyes widened in surprise after her first sip. "It's—"
"Really good?" Nathan supplied with a wink.
The girl nodded enthusiastically. "What is it?"
"My version of a Piña Colada."
She frowned, taking another sip. "I thought Piña Coladas were white. Why is it blue?"
Nathan scratched the back of his neck. "I had some Kool-Aid lying around."
"Really?" she exclaimed. "I can't even taste it."
"I didn't put in enough, I guess," Nathan shrugged, frowning slightly.
The girl immediately felt guilty. "It's still really good. I can't remember the last time I had Kool-Aid, so I probably forgot what it tastes like." Then, to show Nathan how much she liked it, she finished the rest of the drink in a single breath.
"Woah," Nathan chuckled nervously, helping her sit on his bed. "I put a lot of booze in it. You gotta slow down."
"Sorry," she muttered sheepishly, "I'm just really thirsty."
He sat beside her. "Right, yeah. It's all good."
Nathan's hand settled against the girl's thigh, scorching the exposed skin. He was so close she could see each individual lash of his. He leaned in.
"Are you religious?" she blurted, leaning away to look at him.
"Huh?"
"It's just," she started, rivalling Dove in terms of speed, "everyone automatically assumes I'm religious or something when they find out I'm still… And it's not that I'm religious, and it's not that I'm not religious—because I think I'm somewhere in the middle of the faith spectrum—but it's actually sort of a personal choice combined with a lack of opportunity? Now, I feel like I have an opportunity, so I can't use that excuse anymore, but there's still this nagging—"
"Kitty!" cried Nathan, after several failed attempts at a more civilized interruption, "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm waiting for the right person," she breathed out, "at the right time." A pause. "And not for a while."
Nathan stared at her. Said nothing.
"Not for any crazy religious reason," she rushed to add. "Just as a personal… preference."
God, her mouth was dry, and she was sweating everywhere. That was why she didn't speak, why she stayed at home and left the social interactions to the experienced.
"That's alright."
It's… alright? That couldn't possibly be what he meant.
The girl blinked. "I—I don't understand."
Nathan grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Hey! You're a beautiful girl, but there's no hurry. We have all the time in the world."
There was so much she wanted to say to him at the moment, so much she wanted to ask. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her tongue.
"Are you going to drink that?" the girl pointed to Nathan's forgotten Piña Colada, snatching it from the night table as soon as he shook his head disapprovingly.
"Hey, hey, easy there," Nathan soothed the girl as she attempted to down the entire glass. He ran a hand over her hair, and she felt too drained to stop him.
"S-sorry. I'm just nervous."
"That's okay. Let me help you relax." Nathan moved his comforter back, motioning for the girl to lie down.
"Can I?" she questioned, already lowering herself against his soft sheets. Her head was pounding, and the room was starting to swim. Maybe she should have listened to Nathan and sipped her drink slowly.
The girl closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the mattress until she felt stuck. "I've been getting tired a lot lately," she sleepily mumbled.
"Must be the stress." Nathan's voice seemed far away. Had he moved back to the chair? "You seem like the type."
The sound of the door opening and closing vaguely permeated past her drowsiness, but she paid no attention. "N—no it's… it's…" Something was wrong. She didn't know why or how, but her spine tingled, warning her of immediate danger.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She tried opening her eyes, but they were glued shut. She found herself stuck in limbo, unable to do anything but think, and even that was becoming a challenge.
Something cold landed on her neck, travelling down her collarbone, up her jaw. The sensation stung her skin, but she could do nothing except groan in response.
"Easy. Just like that."
The cold trailed down her torso and along her leg.
"You're a lightweight. I think I gave you a little too much."
Who gave her what? What was happening?
"God! Baby! You're a gorgeous little thing! All the stories are true, aren't they? I can't believe you'll be mine soon."
A scuffle interrupted the gruff voice, and suddenly the cold was gone, replaced, instead, with a familiar warmth. It enveloped the girl's face and encouraged her to open her eyes.
"Just like that, Kitty. Wake up, sweetheart."
Slowly but surely, the heaviness left her eyes, and she fluttered awake, only to be met by Dove. Her blonde hair fanned across her head as she bent over, fussing over the girl.
"Hey! Hi! You had us all really worried," she said. "Peter wanted to call the cops, but I knew you were safe. Best friend's intuition, right?" Dove pulled at something around the girl's thighs, fixing her dress with shaky hands.
Still sleepy and not fully awake, the girl did not notice the tears lining her friend's eyes.
"What happened?" she croaked.
"We looked everywhere for you! Peter was convinced you got kidnapped or something. We didn't think you'd be here of all places!"
The girl slowly took in her surroundings and realized she had fallen asleep on Nathan's bed.
"Where's Nathan?" she asked.
A shadow fell over Dove's face, one vastly unfamiliar. "In hell!" she growled.
The girl shook her head. "I talked to him. It was all a huge misunderstanding."
"No! That bastard, he—"
A commotion started in the hall, one that made both girls pause.
"Shit!" Dove suddenly exclaimed, running toward the noise. She threw open the door and launched herself into the middle of a fight.
Still woozy, the girl took her time to leave the comfort of the bed, leaning against the wall for support waddling across the space on shaky legs, much like a baby deer walking for the first time.
Most of her fatigue left her when she took in the scene in the hall. Nathan and Peter were engaged in a rumble, rolling around the floor in a mess of fists. Blood dripped from various cuts around Nathan's face and soaked through Peter's white shirt.
"Stop it!" Dove screamed. "Leave him alone, Peter!"
"He fucking deserves it!" Peter bellowed, landing a harsh punch against Nathan's jaw. "You son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"
The girl stood there dumbfounded, unable to do much except stare at the scene as a sickening wave of nausea took over her shaking body. She had never seen Peter like this. He was prone to his hysterics now and then, but they usually ended with vulgar profanities and an ostentatious show of muscles—harmless, really. This… this was scary. This was unknown.
People cheered around her, encouraging the mindless violence. No one stepped forward to help, save for Dove, who was failing to get through to Peter. Phones were out, recording the fight in HD, making the girl feel even sicker.
Peter grabbed Nathan by the collar and shoved him against the wall, placing an arm over his throat.
"You'll kill him!" Dove shrieked. "Peter, stop!"
The room started to spin again, so the girl leaned her entire weight against the wall. The smell of blood invaded her senses, and she had to fight the urge to empty the contents of her stomach right in the hall.
Dove finally found an opening and launched herself between the two boys, stopping Peter from landing what would have been a deadly punch.
He hesitated, arm pulled back. "Move outta the way, Dove." His voice was eerily calm despite the rage pulsing through his body. "This fucker deserves to die at my hands."
With tears brimming her eyes, Dove shook her head. "No, I'm not gonna let you—"
The girl ran to Nathan's bathroom, slamming the door open and hunching over the toilet seat. She sobbed between gags, overwhelmed by the events of the day.
"Kitty?" Present worry forgotten, Dove rushed after her friend, with Peter following close behind.
Amongst the chaos in the hall, a figure watched the scene in front of him, hands clenched in frustration. He had been so close.
If anyone had told the girl earlier how her night would've gone, she wouldn't have believed them. She might've even laughed. The girl had prepared for situations like these by ensuring she would never land in them in the first place. She kept her circle small, never hanging out with the wrong crowd. She didn't do recreational drugs and even stayed away from potent drinks. It wouldn't do her good to get loose-lipped and share her secrets with strangers.
Where did it all go wrong, she wondered? When did she lose control? Was it when she went out with Nathan? When she let herself harbour a crush on him? Or perhaps the mistake lay far deeper, buried amongst her past when she ran away from home.
Stop, she chastised herself. Nonsense is what she was thinking. No one knew where she was or what had become of her. And a good thing too, because what would her family say if they saw her now? What would her brother?
The girl threw her head back and finished the last of her drink. By running away all those years ago, did she somehow trigger a series of events that led to her current predicament?
She was sitting on the stairs with tears streaming down her face and an empty wine bottle dangling from her hand. She knew it was a bad idea to drink, but the girl felt floaty and sad, reliving the night between soft sniffles and silent sobs.
She finished emptying the contents of her stomach in the toilet when Dove pushed her sweaty hair back and led her to the bed.
"What's happening to me?" she whimpered.
"What do you remember?" Peter retorted.
She didn't remember much, but her friends filled in the blanks.
"The hockey team had a stupid bet going." Tears gathered in Dove's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Kitty."
She had been confused, not understanding the implication.
"Someone bet Nathan two hundred dollars he couldn't get you in bed," said Peter. "Did he touch you?"
Her head spun.
"What do you remember?"
"No! No, I don't think so. Maybe? I'm not sure." Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, her brain fuzzy.
"I'm so sorry, Kitty."
She whimpered, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Nathan wanted to apologize to me. Just apologize."
"Oh, Kitty."
"And I forgave him."
The room flashed red and blue. Peter cursed, and Dove began to panic.
"It's going to be okay," Peter told the girls as two men in uniform escorted him out of the house. "Everything will be okay."
Suddenly everything became too much, and she needed to be alone. "Go, Dove. He needs you."
"So do you."
"I'll be fine."
The girl collapsed to her knees when her friend finally left. She pulled at her hair, wracking her brain for something, anything. But she couldn't remember.
It all made sense now, why Nathan had noticed her, why he was pursuing her. And why he put in the effort to apologize to her. The taste of his attempt was still bitter on her tongue, unable to be washed down by the wine.
Her eyes drifted over the crowd below and promptly landed on one of the last people she wanted to see… only to find him looking right at her, a glare etched on his face.
She couldn't believe she ever thought him handsome, that she almost kissed him. Her Papa was right. And she now understood why he never let her date when she was younger. Boys were only trouble.
"He told his buddies you were easy. That, he might as well take the money now because you were a done deal."
The girl stood as fast as a whip.
"They wanted a look at the pretty girl in my room."
The empty wine bottle dropped from her hands with a clatter.
"He said you would be his first virgin. And he couldn't wait."
Her legs felt like jelly, and she leaned against the railing for support. Shame burned deep in her gut, rising in temperature, turning into fear and disgust.
She somehow managed to make her way down the stairs without falling. Out, she needed out. Out of that stuffy house, her stuffy clothes and her stuffy makeup.
The girl pushed past the packed crowd, forcing her way through, ignoring the grunts of protest and curses thrown her way. She apologized instinctively after stepping on someone's foot with her sharp heel, but did not linger.
When the first gust of fresh air reached her lungs, the girl fell to her knees, fingers weaving through the cool, dewy grass. And when the world finally stopped spinning, she surveyed her surroundings, blinking slowly. A few stragglers lingered underneath an old pine, smoking, ignoring her for the time being.
She got up on shaky feet, standing still for a moment to let the dizziness pass. She turned the corner, walking around the house and toward the backyard, where she hoped to make an inconspicuous escape. With her vision still blurry due to her tears and inebriated state, the girl did not see the overgrown root sticking out from under the house.
The fall happened so suddenly that she didn't even scream, only flinched as she waited to meet the cold ground. She was thoroughly surprised, however, when she found herself wrapped in warm arms instead.
"Where you goin' in such a hurry?"
"Sorry," she gasped, "I'm so sorry."
The warm arms in question belonged to a man with beautiful eyes and a dazzling smile. His dark hair was cut short on the sides, and day-old stubble decorated his sharp jawline. He was beautiful. The girl was, at least, able to make out that much despite her intoxication.
The man's hold on her did not loosen. In fact, he tightened it almost painfully, trying to keep her upright and off the ground.
"Hey," he asked softly, dipping his head to look her in the eyes, "you okay, baby?"
He said her name with a tilt of his head, and if she were in the right state of mind and not burning under his gaze, she might have realized that he used her name, her full name that very few people knew. Yet she couldn't remember seeing him before.
The girl managed a shaky nod. "Fine. I didn't see the—"
Once again, the use of her full name, this time from somewhere behind her, startled her out of the stranger's grasp. He let her go, though he was reluctant to.
Voices emerged from the corner, voices that were talking about her.
"That fucking prude! Did you hear what she did?"
The girl stumbled over her feet, and the man reached out to steady her. "Easy."
"Poor Nathan. How could she wrongfully accuse him of something so horrible?"
She hadn't. She didn't even talk to anyone other than Dove and Peter about what happened because she herself was unsure of the details.
"I have to go," she whispered, "I need to go," and freed herself from the stranger's hold. He called out for her, but she ignored him. She ignored the small group gossiping about her, ignored the ache in her feet, and the pit of dread in her stomach.
There were many other ways the night could have ended, none all too pleasant. If Dove hadn't encouraged her to come to the party. If Peter had found her earlier. If the girl had not gone through the back; if she had not tripped over the overgrown root and fallen into the arms of a handsome stranger.
Yes, there were many other ways the night could have ended, none all too pleasant, indeed. But what's done was done, and the consequences of her actions were slowly catching up with her, though she did not know it at the moment.
If things were different, Peter would have offered to walk her home. His perceptive gaze might have found something familiar about the stranger. "I know you. Where do I know you from? I know you."
The girl's paranoia might have made her realize he was the man she had stepped on earlier. "Weren't you just inside? I could swear I just saw you inside."
And the night could have ended pleasantly.
But alas, the girl was drunk, and Peter was in jail, and out of all the ways the night could have ended, it chose to end none all too pleasant. None all too pleasant, indeed.
April 25th, 2018
It was now confirmed. The girl was a lightweight. She never particularly drank alcohol—not the strong kind anyway—choosing lighter champagnes and fruity cocktails that washed away the bitterness with sticky syrup. Just one glass was enough to make her tipsy and eventually drunk.
Three to four wrong turns later, the girl was nowhere near her dorm. As it happened, trying to find the residential building at one in the morning while drunk was more challenging than expected. She was sensitive. A few sips of coffee kept her up all night; no wonder she couldn't see three feet in front of her. An entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach would do that to a person.
What was she thinking? It seemed like such a good idea at the time. She was confused and hurting, willing to do anything to numb the pain. In hindsight, a good night's sleep could have given her a similar effect.
Two officers had escorted Peter out of the house, which meant he was at the station on the far side of campus. The girl sent Dove a text of jumbled-up words that barely made sense, telling her she was going home.
Hopefully.
Eventually… If she could figure out where she was.
It started slowly, a tingle in her spine, crawling up her shoulders and toward her neck. The feeling of someone watching her. Eyes, on her back, causing goosebumps to form along her arms. She turned around and did something she told herself she would never do.
It was the start of every horror movie. The kind she was forced to watch through the tiny space between clasped fingers, exclaiming, "stupid. So stupid. Why would—Oh my God! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I can't watch this! Why isn't she running?! That's so stupid! I would never do that, I would run."
"Hello," she called out. "Is anyone there?"
No response, so she tried again but was met with silence. You're drunk, she chastised herself, imagining things. Still, the pit in her stomach wouldn't leave. She kept her gaze on the trees lining the pathway, scared that something would jump out at her if she looked away.
Suddenly, her heel stumbled on the uneven ground, causing her to twist awkwardly and fall backwards on soft sand. Somehow she had ended up on the beach. Huh.
"Well," she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders, "I could use a shower."
The girl discarded her phone and heels near her feet, and staggered toward the water, fingers inching her short dress up with every step. The soft material also found a home in the sand, leaving her in her undergarments. A basic, light grey cotton piece.
The moon was out, the tide was high, and the girl didn't hesitate to throw herself at an incoming wave, giggling the entire way down. Bad ideas seemed to be a theme for the night.
The icy water hit her like a slap to the face, sobering her up momentarily. She broke the surface with a gasp and crawled toward the shore, trying to outrun the wave pulling her back in.
What was she thinking?
There was no time to ponder the question as she lay there on the damp sand.; breathing unevenly, coughing up slight remnants of salty, alkaline water, and recovering from her near death. Only she could be so foolish.
The starry sky looked down at her, mocking her and laughing at her pathetic display. Her breathing slowly evened. Nerves slowly dissipated. The haze of alcohol began to return to her, and unfortunate timing as well because rough hands suddenly grabbed her, hoisting her up in the air.
The girl screamed only once, a short and pathetic yelp, before a piece of cloth was placed over her mouth, forcing her to inhale sweet-tasting citrus. She kicked her feet and thrashed her arms, but the person holding her was too strong. She dug her nails into calloused hands, and to no avail, for minutes later, the last of her fight left her body, rendering her limp and at her attacker's mercy.
The world spun, and she saw black.
Yes… if only the night had ended differently indeed.
The shadowed figure watched from a distance, clenching his fist in frustration. He had been so close to the girl. Close enough to smell the trace of flowers on her skin, the wine on her breath. She was so soft under him, so pliant. He couldn't help but want another taste.
He huffed and puffed, trying his best to not reveal himself in his anger. It was too late now, and all he could do was stare as her limp body was covered with a towel and slung over the shoulder of a hooded man. The man said something to his friend, who nodded and picked up the girl's discarded clothes.
The shadow could do nothing but watch as his inamorata was taken for him. "Just for now," he consoled himself. After all, the girl was promised to him, wasn't she?
He took a step back, preparing to leave, when his eye caught on a shiny object partially hidden under the sand. He picked up the device with nimble fingers and inspected it. Notifications popped up on the screen, messages from the roommate, various reminders and emails.
He smiled as a plan formed in his mind, and retreated back to where he came from, becoming one with the darkness. That day she would become his seemed a lot closer than before.
"Soon."