It was Parker who barged into the suite Orson and I are sharing, frantic. "Guys, it's Luciana! Something's wrong!"

"What?" I sound so bleary as I untangle myself from Orson's limbs and check my phone for the time. It's six a-m, two hours since we got back from Ultra, and yet the sun has already climbed over the horizon on the ocean and flares its reflection across the bright blue expanse, the golden gleam becomes a long, blaring finger aimed at me through our frail bedroom curtains.

Wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe with last night's makeup smeared across her face, she wears an alarmed expression as she pads over to the bed, over to my side, and shows us how Luciana has called her three times. "I've tried her like ten times and I tried to knock on her door but she's not answering!"

Orson rubs his eyes tiredly and yawns but not before he put on a t-shirt over his bare torso. "Let's get management," he says. We follow him down the winding, grand corridors and soon find ourselves in the lobby speaking to the desk manager. We explain our situation- well, mostly Parker did, and soon enough, the desk manager summons the security guard. We rush back to Luciana's suite, where the security guard swipes the passkey over the door, and we swarm inside.

There's no sign of anyone in the bed or on the private terrace, but in the marble bathroom beside the deep soaking tub, we find Luciana lying unconscious in a pool of dark green bile.

-

After Luciana's parents got the call that Luciana was in intensive care, the medical helicopter her parents had chartered was already waiting on the tarmac of the private jet airport to airlift Luciana to a hospital in New York. We follow close behind a day after in Hanif's Gulfstream V, only to find that the nurses are disbarring anyone from visiting Luciana at the moment- just relatives only- as Luciana's organs dwindle into critical condition. Eventually, we all just cool off back to our own houses- Orson and I retreating into his stately penthouse, Hanif, Phineas and Aidan staying over at Aidan's townhouse while Parker remains curled up on a blue vinyl chair in the hospital's waiting room.

Orson and I arrive the following day, at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, carrying trays of steaming hot cappuccinos. I survey the waiting room.

Ms Santiago was in grey ultra-skinny jeans that left nothing to the imagination, a diamond intarsia cashmere sweater I remembered reading about in Prada's catalogue and silver heels with cutouts at the toes. She has packed on concealer to hide the developing dark circles under her eyes as diamonds the size of chickpeas glitter in her ears. Even though Ms Santiago, the glamorous reality star of Real Housewives of New York, is looking uncharacteristically dishevelled with her messy hair and puffy face (red, from all the crying), she still has golden, lineless skin while her chocolatey hair falls in silky soft waves over her chin, collarbone, breasts, and I watch one single strand shake in the stream of her breathing.

Mr Santiago is slumped in the chair closest to the two giant double doors, jiggling his left foot, looking annoyed at the fact that he's here instead of the office, barking into his little Bluetooth earpiece, even though there's a sign near the emergency ward's reception desk that says no cell phones. Phineas, Hanif and Aidan arrive later as I shake Parker awake in her seat and hand her a coffee. I dish her a sweet smile, "You're favourite," as she groggily blinks at me, and I know the overly-bright hospital lights overhead illuminate me in her sleep-driven eyes, making me look like an angel from heaven above delivering her coffee. 

"My favourite?" Parker mumbles. Parker has thrown on the most sensible looking outfit she could pull out of her Spring-Break luggage and she has slept in the hospital with the clothes from last night, fresh off the private plane's runway. Her makeup has been wiped off with a piece of Kleenex, so you can still see the smears of three-day-old mascara.

Next to her, I'm showered, smelling like lavender and roses, feeling fresh and crisp in a Ralph Lauren blazer, cashmere sweater, jeans and Ferragamo loafers.

"You're favourite," I confirm for her, pressing her iced cappuccino with cinnamon sprinkled on top and two packets of Splenda. It's only March in New York so it's not exactly summer and ice-coffee weather but Parker inhales gallons of iced coffee, no matter how frosty it is out there.

"Thanks."

"Is she ok?" I pretend to ask worryingly.

Parker shakes her head. "They have no idea what happened to her. At first, they thought it was a drug overdose but her body's acting really weird."

"What does that mean?" I say wide-eyed.

"I don't know," Parker buries her head into her arms and I put an arm around her, patting her comfortingly.

Several minutes later, the door to the ICU sweeps open and the doctor walks into the waiting room. With his piercing grey eyes, sloped nose, and shock of white hair, he looks like he could be Parker's dad. They share the same judgemental dirt-under-my-shoe stare they give out towards strangers.

"Dad, how is she?" Parker asks, biting her lip. Oh, of course. I momentarily forgot how the Holtz have made their fortune, or rather maintain their fortune, as Parker father comes from a very long line of well-established doctors, neurosurgeons and medical specialists in Germany and America.

Parker's father, Aaron Holtz, one of New York's most famed heart-surgeons, ignores his daughter as Luciana's parents nervously walk over to the pair. He registers grimly, mouth set in a slash across his face. 

"Your daughter is still unconscious," he says to them, "Not much has changed. We're now running a range of tests. This is a very strange and unusual case, we are unable to pinpoint what led to such intense multi-organ failure. It must be something she ate or drank," He turns to Parker and me, but his voice amplifies for the rest of our group to hear, "Can you tell us exactly what has she consumed in the last forty-eight hours on your trip?"

"She-she ate everything we ate," Parker stammers. I relish the warmth in her voice and the desperation. "Right before Ultra, we had lunch at this restaurant near our hotel. Um- uh Luciana had a Cobb salad, and then she shared a strawberry and passionfruit mousse dessert with us. And then we..."

She trailed off, not wanting to divulge into details of us drinking vodka and taking molly right in front of her own father and Luciana's parents.

So I step in, "Luciana took something," I make sure to sound bashful and ashamed; after all, we're not supposed to be pill-popping crazies who raves all the time, even though we are. "It must've been her drugs. Because Parker, Orson and all of us- we got it from the same...um, dealer. She must've got hers somewhere else."

Parker's father's nose flares but he nods very seriously. "We'll try our best to locate what the toxin is and how to manage the complications it's doing to her body."

"What's your prognosis?" Luciana's mother asks worriedly, tears in her eyes.

Parker's father sighs. "I'm not going to kid you—it's very critical at the moment. Her liver and kidney are failing, and it's possible she might develop brain damage if that is the case we need to put her in a medically induced coma in order to give her body more of a fighting chance."

"Medically induced coma?" Parker says in a hushed, shocked tone. A murmur goes through the room. Orson blinks in disbelief like he couldn't believe this is his life. Luciana's mother promptly bursts into tears. Even Luciana's father had finally ripped his attention away from his cell-phone and paid attention, looking quite sad. 

"When can we see her?" Her father asks.

"I can only let you in one at a time," Parker's dad replies.

"You guys should go first," Parker says to Luciana's parents, "Then we'll all go in one by one."

-

I stand at the foot of Luciana's bed, Orson walks me through the corridor of the emergency ward but he waits outside as I enter Luciana's room as a team of doctors and nurses hovered over her. Just at Ultra, Luciana has been so sexy, so glamorous; her dark hair in space buns, her face a spangled mask of blue and silver glitter, her body slick in leather and cutouts, never looking more like the savage princess she is like she might have a necklace of human tongues. Now her complexion is yellow and there are cables, cords, and tubes in her neck and abdomen. I walk over to her. The doctors and nurses decide to leave, to have my moment of privacy with Luciana. I glance back from the corner of my eyes. Orson is watching me from the gap-panel of the door. So I bend down, almost like I'm kissing Luciana's cheek, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. I make sure my voice is soft and little but it comes out hard.

"You deserve this."

-

Back at the waiting room, the rest of the group plus Luciana's parents are cloistered together over a tube of Pringles and tasteless hospital black coffee. Parker's so stressed and depressed she's full-on shoving saturated fat into her mouth, teeth loudly clomping on the overly salty chips. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose at it.

Hours pass. By the time noon trickles, Parker's father confirms how there's still not much change. "Should I order some UberEats?" Orson asks the group. Hanif nods. Phineas mutters an agreement. He and Aidan head off.

A nurse approaches us, carrying an elaborate arrangement of white lilies. "Hi, this was sent to the reception for a Luciana Santiago?"

I hide the smirk I want to wear and act as surprised and weirded out by this sudden occurrence. "That's strange," Luciana's mother says, "All the people who know about this situation are here."

Parker starts undoing the ribbons around the vase and as the silk wrappings come undone, a notecard falls out. She opens the card and reads it before gasping out a: "Holy shit!" She shoves the vase of flowers away from her reflexively, letting it fall on the floor with a resounding crash. Water spills everywhere.

With a flair for the dramatics, I leap out of my chair. "What happened?"

Parker shakily hands the card to Luciana's parents. They read it aloud and with every word, blood drains from their face:

Dear Mrs and Ms Santiago,

Luciana has been poisoned with a lethal dose of Ricinothymide. Doctors should be able to reverse the effects once they know this.

If you value your daughter's life, you will make sure she never steps foot in the United States ever again.

This is your last warning.

-

It's rather extreme. Teach the girl a lesson by putting poison in her drugs. I want you all to know that. But then again, it's extreme to embark on a two- almost three-year journey for revenge, undergoing surgery to change your appearance and pretending to be someone to get vengeance. All the Sunday Schoolers out there will say: I should've just moved on! Take the high road! Two wrongs don't make a right!

All those things are what spineless people say, confusing their weakness with morality.

I spent almost two years of my life after the death of my family by being weak.

I'm sharing a cigarette outside of the police station with Orson. He looks so haunted, so tired from the last few days. I know I've done it. I've worn the Elite thin, knock down the pillars of their powerful monarchy, their castles. Now it's just down to the last man standing.

There's something admirable in that. Being the last man standing. It means durability. Means you got stuff, kid. You made it this far.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask softly, straightening up Orson's tie. I play into this image. The supporting wife, Lady Macbeth, Jackie Kennedy. My own version of the ride or die. I never understood that compliment- you're my ride or die. It's like being called a glorified doormat.

After the shocking revelation of that letter being sent (which isn't so shocking since you know, I'm the one who sent it), Luciana's parents and all of us- yes, I do mean all of us, parade down to the police station in which we report Luciana's drug overdose- which isn't a drug overdose anymore- as a foul play. The police are now calling what happened to Luciana an attempted murder.

Attempted.

They make me sound so juvenile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He whispers. "It's just- this is so crazy."

"Yeah, fuck. Not how I imagine Spring Break would go." I tug down my scarf, unintentionally revealing the dark bruises on my throat. Orson winces at the sight of it. He reaches up to stroke the marks softly, his fingers warmly caressing the ruined skin.

"So sorry about that. I had no idea what got into me."

I smile but it's a weak one. I squash down the jump of nerves that flare-up. I'm thinking about how if Orson held his fingers on my throat just ten seconds later, I could've been unconscious. Twenty seconds more and I could've been dead. Sometimes, I feel like I know Orson. I know what I'm fucking with.

The bruises remind me that I don't.

We head back into the police station after we finish our cigarette. The two detectives that Luciana's parents are speaking to enter the reception area with end-of-shift weariness. The man is rangy and thin, with a pointed, tapered face and a dribble chin. The woman is brazenly ugly, like beyond the scope of everyday ugly: tiny round eyes set tight as buttons, a long twist of a nose, skin spackled with tiny bumps, long lank hair the colour of a dust bunny.

They register us with grim faces. The man has his Manhattan PD jacket unbuttoned to his mid-chest, showing a frayed white T-shirt beneath it. He has a clipboard and like a newscaster reading a bad news report, he announces to us their deliberation of the situation:

"Luciana has been poisoned by a lethal toxin called Ricinothymide. It is a very hard-to-get pharmaceutical that's originally been formulated to treat terminal cancer patients, manufactured only in Russia. It's been rumoured to be instrumental in assassinations by the KGB since the early Soviet days and even now. There's only one pharmaceutical company in the world: Yeong-"

"Enterprises," Parker finishes, face pale.

And with that, everyone in that room turns to look at Phineas.

-

Ricinothymide is not a real toxin! But it's based on real toxins