The huge neon blue sign of the lounge flickered at a distance as I parked my car.

It was already over nine thirty, and I deeply regretted the impromptu four hour power nap I had taken, after straight-up downing a sealed box of Cheerios. Trying to walk fast as I could in the pointy heels, while avoiding a trip and fall over the condensed snow, I didn't realise the ting of the rustic bell attached to the door latch— my eyes taking a little too long to catch hold of his  unnerving gaze.

He was leaning on the bar counter, sipping on a strawberry daiquiri resembling his tousled hair. His tanned skin peeked through the translucency of his white shirt, and in all the right places, leaving it to the barmaids to eye my arm candy with steady attention.

Those graphic tee days were so much better.

I entered inside and promptly pulled off my denim jacket. He looked at me; a gasp leaving his throat instantaneously. The cocktail glass in his hands slipped through the sudden numb of his fingers, breaking the onlookers fantasies along with itself.

He trudged in my direction with a mischievous grin lingering on his lips. "Have you seen my girlfriend?" His hand slid across my waist, pulling me closer.

"Nah, but she would be very upset on catching us red handed, doing this." I brought my lips over to his, breaking my hitched breath loose. My fingers grazed his neck while I basked in the musky scent of his cologne, deepening the forest illusion of his hazel eyes.

He pulled apart slightly, our foreheads touching. "By the way, you look beautiful."

I could only smile. I had picked out a wine red strap dress from the closing window display of Zara— the hem of the chiffon material, by pure luck, reaching just above my knees and not too low as to highlight the evident plump of my ankles. The smoky eye makeup, on the other hand, was a rather conscious choice, and the compliment assured me that the tear stains weren't visible anymore. A sense of relief washed over me before butterflies could.

"So, lets put those barmaids to work." We ordered a couple of  vodka shots as a part of our ritual. The why of it dates back to how we found this place, rather discovered on an eventful night to say the least.

Some four years back, when we were drunk out of our senses and madly roaming the city, we chanced upon this dingy little lounge. Apart from the impromptu wet t-shirt contest and an even more spontaneous marriage proposal, it was undoubtedly one of our best nights in New York. "You know, you can't handle those shots," he said, grinning at me.

If only he had any idea of how badly I needed to wash down this horrendous day with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a joint in another. "It's Valentines Day, and this is a great opportunity for you to step up and prove how great of a boyfriend you can be."

"Valentines is overrated. I have been handling your drunken ass since 2006."

"Yeah, whatever." I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "Then I hope you won't mind if my present doesn't match up to the regular standards of Valentines."

I handed him the black velvet box, not keeping any surprise element to it. He raised his eyebrows in amusement, very well aware of the item it encased. The silver dial of the watch glimmered as soon as the lid fell on the table. "Whoa, you remembered."

"It's called having an eidetic memory." To be truthful, I had jotted it down when he expressed how he would want a similar watch as Brad Pitt wore in some heist movie. My sources found the exact same one, and it wasn't a very difficult task to find a knock off later. If only cops were as money loaded as those movies depicted.

"Then what's this case you have so been busy with, you ditched your boyfriend early in the morning?" He asked, humour curling the corners of his mouth while he slid the watch onto his wrist. It's black leather strap hid the scorpion tattoo Archie got inked out of pure angst. That's a story for another day, though.

"Nothing important, just a small robbery around the precinct." My eyes averted to the bar, awaiting those shots impatiently. "What about you? Any new projects on the lineup?" I could've brung up our dead gold fish it meant a change of topic.

"Many, but I am especially excited about getting my own spot on the channel." Those hazel eyes lightened up along with the dangling bulbs on the ceiling. I was glad he finally took a chance and quit Goldman Sachs to pursue his music career. It was quite draining for the first year, but it delightfully turned around when he got an audition at MTV.

He gushed about his new opportunity while the waiter brought us our shots. I listened to him intently, my hand travelling over to grab a glass off the tray and then another. I gulped the contents faster than they filled them, feeling the pain and pleasure of the burning sensation hit me all at once . What followed thereafter, I have come to describe as the Callaway chronology.

First one down, everything was still normal. My surroundings seemed just as they should have been. I could hear each and every word he was saying.

The Second one went a little to the head, dizzying in nature. Vision was still decent. Words were almost audible.

Third; eyes saw stars and constellations build and disjoin. At this point, he was just a blabbing head to me.

Fourth; I got a little heady. He stood up to go to the restroom.

Fifth; I was looking around like a clown. The air had started to get thick, and he was still not here.

Sixth; everything echoed. My ears were hurting and so was the spot between my brows. I could see him coming in the direction of our table, but it wasn't easy making out how far he still was, and with every step that he took, he was seeming more and more like George. Except that George had ruffled brown hair, and his eyes were similar to the water's hue on a sunny day at the beach.

Seventh and final shot; I started blurting out the string of events that happened to me today. I never did that, but the weight of the events had successfully pulled my act down.

"So... this case, huh," I found myself laughing at the slur of my voice. "You would have never guessed whose case I am handling. Rachel Stinson's murder case," I whispered, looking around to make sure my droopy words didn't prick any ears."While investigating the case, I found out something really disturbing." I vaguely remember frowning at that statement.

George's face suddenly looked flushed, or was it Archie?

"What happened?" I asked him, rubbing my eyes to clear the distorted vision.

"Nothing, why do you ask?" He chuckled, miserably failing to keep a straight face. It was definitely Archie. He couldn't lie for his life, not to me at least. My detective instincts closely observed the moisture of his cologne gather around his neck as we spoke.

"Something is wrong, Archie. I can see it."

"What? You are hallucinating, Em. I am fine," he continued stalling and taking me for the drunkard you can feed all lies to. Scooting over to where he had been sitting, I clasped his hand within mine and didn't forget to note how it oddly cold it felt against mime.

"I am not falling for it, so you better admit whatever it is that you are not admitting."

He sighed, "Fine, but I want you to know that this was a mistake. Do–don't jump to conclusions before hearing it all." The presence of his long gone stutter only further wrecked with my nerves, the weight of the unsaid building on my vodka heavy chest. "I was one of the many people at Rachel's party that night."

"You were?" I squealed, unbothered by the turning heads all around us until he shushed me. "You never told me all these years since after, never once mentioned."

Battling my accusatory looks, he trudges forward with a hazy breath. There's more? "I never told you because I wasn't simply there, I... I–"

"Oh, come on, Archie."

"I kissed Monica Stalling."

Synonymous to dead for beats, I shut off in entirety and felt the floor shift beneath while dabbling between urges to coil myself into nothing or to activate my once infamous flight stance. Next thing I knew, the alcohol hit my senses like a tsunami, evading any rational response from my side. I found myself mentally clutching onto the collar of Archie's shirt, while in actuality my senses had dulled from the shock. My feet were threatening to go numb, but I didn't let them, storming out of the lounge before it could turn any worse.

No one could predict how my demons were actually the footsteps trudging behind me, taking advantage of my vulnerable state as I fainted on the side walk.

"And that's it."

"That's all?" Her grey eyes stare right into mine. I am intimidated, but don't wish to avert my gaze to my disheveled appearance and the bruises stretching beneath the length of my dress.

I surprisingly woke up to the strong smell of cinnamon and caffeine, when I was expecting to reek of the freshly laid tar on the sidewalk. Though what came with the trade isn't something I allowed myself to think of, even back then. The same devious smile that led to our friendship nine years ago.

Mia has now dyed her hair to an outrageous hot pink, pierced her tongue and only kept her deviousness the same. Not even an ashtray or a rogue piece of chocolate muffin in sight, I can tell things have changed around here. I wonder how Archie would react after seeing her, probably stuttering at a mere glimpse of the ever brewing storm in her eyes. And the lad wondered why gossip mongers accused him of dabbling between the two of us.

I wouldn't deny the truth in their suspicions, but I rather prefer the term controversial if we are going to put a tag on our flings back then.

"Yes, pretty much," I respond, returning to her question. My gaze remains fixed at the pistol she has been holding in her hand, since I started narrating my day. The trembling of my feet has calmed a little, and I can't decide if it is a good sign.

"So, I guess it's time to make the choice," she smiles the same foxy smile. It's all my fault. I can't help but feel that way, even though I don't know what stakes that are making her come back for us this time, and after eight years that is. I thought we all had moved on to bigger problems than the trouble ensuing within our own little group.

"I choose dare," I blurt out, my voice hoarse than ever.

"Huh, I didn't expect that. Okay then," she hands me the pistol. I might as well be holding a murder weapon for all I know.

"Let the games begin," she whispers, her tone spewing vile and a hint of stale cigar lingering on her tongue to compliment. And it sounds exactly like Kylie's did that night.

***

14 July 2007
Arlington Woods

The light breeze was in sync with the movements of my hand; a splotch of black ink gracing the paper of my journal whilst Kylie ran her nails along the purple of her lips, scraping bits of the now dried lipstick. I couldn't deny that it felt like home, the stretch of persimmon trees hidden behind the layout of our university, which had come to be our little secret spot for whenever the buzz of clubs and parties just won't do.

Plus, I was getting grossed out watching Kylie shove her tongue down a part time bass player's throat, and her, of the glint in his eyes, demanding more than she was to ready to commit. I wondered if there was anyone she could get the hots for, if not the classic butterflies that books preach. She sure did notice me staring at her, but didn't ask why, and almost made me believe that she is  capable of reading minds. "So, you and Archie have finally called quits?" A smirk underlined her question, defying the golden mellow of her eyes under the moonlight seeping through the forest.

"We'll get back together, eventually," I shrugged, hoping she wouldn't pick on the defensiveness oozing from my tone. Embarrassing, I know, but then again the lines are all blurred after I saw that bump on my head and the gauze tied around my hair like a scarf turned bandana.

I really shouldn't have exceeded the speed limit. Not when all I could see were flimsy rainbows and feel Mia's rancorous words pounding in my ear from our tussle at Daniel's bistro, almost making me believe she'd be my biggest trouble coming forth. Almost.

All I really remembered at the moment were bits and pieces and... Harry, was it?

Kylie just nodded, but I could see that not so secretive eye roll. A glance at my phone and I realised it was past two, meaning to suggest we leave, when Kylie, out of the blue brought it up; what legends would come to deem my near demise. "How about a match of truth or dare?"

"Isn't that for kids?" I shrugged, refusing to admit I was a little scared to do this with her, all alone.

"Are you afraid?" She asked rather rhetorically.

"Afraid? Who, me? Where would you get that thought? I can play,"

I agreed, unaware of the consequences lying ahead. "Alright. Now remember that the game is for kids, but the rules aren't. If you lie or refuse a dare, there will be a heavy price to pay. Daring enough to accept?"

With anyone else I would have laughed it off with a 'sure,' but Kylie Meyers didn't joke around with her words. Just with relationships.

I met this fireball of a girl during my second day in kindergarten, when everyone's consolations had turned inaudible as I cried for over an hour straight in the phonetics class. I continued wailing until Pigtails here, stomped ahead with a cherry lollipop dangling from her mouth, and without any warning, sealed my sniffles with a Barbie bandaid. Little did I know, she had plans to stick around for quite a while.

If not evident, we got along well because of our shared knack of getting things done— whether by hook or by crook. Everything was fine, great in fact, until a few years later, when her parents got divorced. Kylie wasn't one to lay her emotions out under influence, but it was perceptible how hostility consumed her during that phase. It wasn't easy for a ten year old to grasp the reality of it, and their unavailability didn't help much either. I wasn't surprised that it hardly took four years for her to defy the old nannies and go around drinking, partying and making one night stands her routine.

The rebellion phase took a toll on our friendship as well. Luckily, our group expanded in college, when Archie and a few equally messed up others joined the party. We barely found ourselves alone since, and even if we did, the elephant in the room was never truly addressed.  I agree that distance had become an inevitable part of our friendship, but I also liked to believe that she will always have my back, that even if things went south, she would still be standing by my side, close or afar.

Guess I was wrong. "Begin already," I pulled my journal close, but held onto it for the duration.

"Okay, Emma. What do you choose, truth or dare?" She asked, flipping a stray violet hair to the side.

"Truth," How bad could a pinch of honesty be anyway?

"Are you cheating on Archie?"

"What?" I almost slipped off the log, the journal flipping pages on its own, and another swift breeze cutting past the tension in the air.

"Answer it."

"Of course, not," I muttered, fraying my arms around to grab onto something, for they had begun trembling.

"Emma, I warned you beforehand. There will be a heavy price to pay," she sung while devil took over the girl dressed in a buttoned cardigan. 

The humid air, the hammering of my head thanks to that extra shot of brandy, and the sudden silence, all did nothing but remind me of the incident and whatever tiny snippets I can recollect. 'It's okay, she doesn't have anything against you,' I tried to convince my wobbly knees, but to no avail.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," she mumbled before flashing her phone in front of my eyes, filling in the remnants of information I didn't want to know of. I could identify my mascara smeared face and his gawky eyes in the gloomy background— him teasing the spot under my left ear and me sloppily straddling him in the unbeknownst illusion of alcohol and jealousy fuelled emotions that took over me. "Come on, don't say this cutesy keepsake doesn't jock your memory at all." Kylie looked for herself, chuckling as if it is just another one of Arlington's girls in the picture, waiting for her to shout 'slut' at.

"Isn't she right, though?" A voice inside questioned, which should have ideally risen long ago.

It all happened a week back, when Archie and I were biting each other's heads off over yet another juvenile thing. More of a regularity for the two of us at that point, he shouted, I screamed, and at the end of the day I resolved it out in the usual manner; by guzzling down shots of tequila until I was close to numb and all good sense had entirely left my being in the wake of the warmth of the golden hued monstrosity. I was so fazed out that... that I hooked up with George Bailey that night. He had been hitting on me since as long as I can remember, and I couldn't even walk straight, let alone think. It was purely a drunken mistake, one that you push back in the dreary collection of all the painlessly coverable sins you committed, back in college. I couldn't ever think of cheating on Archie, let alone knowingly go through with it. Justified or not, Kylie wasn't supposed to know a detail about this dirty little rendezvous, let alone have access to proof that could bombard my haven and render me armour less.

It might've been wrong, but it was my private matter, and not for her to weaponise to so desperately grab that tiara she wants. "Look, you know me. It was just a matter of one night, nothing that needs to be out there." I didn't bother undermining the threatening tone, just looking to send my message across. Straight and clear.

She understood it well, or at least that's what the squint of her eyes said. "Why would I lose this opportunity to knock you off of your little pedestal, the place people apparently restricted for you, your quarterback boyfriend, and his lovelorn side-fuck, Mia, while we're all just on the sidelines?"

"Shut up, Kylie."

I didn't know what to label this feeling, other than taking it as pure unadulterated rage. And it wasn't just the betrayal, but the fact that she laid her hands on a secret that could destroy everything I had built up in the past year. Archie and I had done everything to keep up with our rep at Arlington, and she was not going to spoil it with a bunch of lame photographs.

She took my lack of response as a state of dumbstruck. "Emma, I never told you to trust me. You made that mistake."

"Kylie, don't do this, and I am not pleading, I am warning you." I stood my ground, not afraid to lose anything apart from Archie.

"What are you gonna do?" She shot her eyebrows, a vicious grin making itself home on her cherry lips I couldn't handle it anymore; the picture on the screen, her pinky finger loitering around, ready to press send at a flick of my eyes.

That's when all hell broke loose.

While she was busy examining the frown on my forehead, I discreetly picked up a heavy piece of log lying camouflaged beneath the pile of dried up leaves. My clammy fingers held onto it, and the next thing I knew, I had slammed it across her head in a swift motion. I don't know how to corroborate the next few seconds, since they felt like a time lapse, and all I can really vouch for is the horrid moment in time that I saw her stance go awry like a collapsed puppet.

Her lifeless body fell on the thick grass, the wound spouting blood. She was as still as the crimson tinted evidence laying beside her, her eyes wide open yet void of life and emotion. A petrified sound escaped my throat, only to fill the unbearably torturous silence. The adrenaline coursing through my body wore off as I split into tears. My hands were quick to muffle the screams trying to break free, while realisation hit me worse than a truck. "I killed her... my best friend, I killed her."

Did I really do it? Panic struck along as I bent down to her level and checked for the air leaving her nostrils at a gradually dying rate. She was alive, for that while at least she was. I took the opportunity as my shaky hands dialled for an ambulance before fresh tears could blur the screen of my phone.

Slowly gathering myself, I realised there are going to be a lot of people demanding answers when looking at a passed out Kylie and spots of blood over my leather jacket. I couldn't let this nefarious truth come out in the open, whether she lived on or not. I needed a cover story to protect myself, one which no one would question or doubt upon.

"Umm... accident, drugs... no wait, robbery? That seems the best option for my situation."

Setting focus apart from the twisted feeling in my gut, I took out our wallets and threw all the cash we had, before tearing its stitched cloth apart. Picking up a particularly sharp edged stone and a few sticks, I scraped my arms and the one very sensitive spot under my ears to justify the assault committed by the burglars. To make it seem as authentic as possible, I didn't hesitate rolling around in the mud, letting the dirt gather over my clothes, my hair, and basically, to get it to resemble my rotten inner self.

Last but not the least, I picked up her phone and deleted those pictures, once and for all.

When the ambulance arrived, I let out every suppressed emotion spiralling inside, and made sure to ball my eyes out in front of the paramedics. They were so concerned, one of the nurses went on to offer me a glucose drink on the way to the hospital. I stayed put in a small chair for the next few hours, until after the doctors gave me the unfortunate news in the late hours of the morning.

She had slipped into a coma. There was no certainty of, when and if she would ever come back to living life the way she did.

It certainly wasn't one of the outcomes that I expected to reap out of this situation, one that could conveniently keep a knife an inch away from my throat at all times. It was bad, and I couldn't do much, other than keeping this to myself and feigning the possibility of this awful incident being nothing more than water under the bridge. Yet, till date, it has been eating me up a little everyday. She hasn't been able to move a finger since then, and it's only because I was too scared to admit to my deeds.

She has gone, but her parting words continue to haunt every move I make, and even the slightest reminder of the time dredges it all back up; Archie being one of those propellants sometimes. Moments before losing her consciousness, she'd muttered it out, "this will come back to you, Emma. The game hasn't ended yet."