My world has grown taut.

There was a part of me that wanted so badly to give life a chance. I wanted to be welcomed, to be blessed, to be invited in. I wanted to be one of the lucky ones. Those who always seemed to have it figured out, who never had to worry much.

Those who mattered.

I’m quite certain my wish wasn’t that difficult. A life with little challenges. A life well lit, bright and sunny and vivid. It’s been raining for years now. Why won’t the storm pass?

I’ve never been a believer of the concept behind destiny. That certain people are just born to be great, and that others must serve at the bottom. But I’m starting to see it. It’s right here in front of me. Perhaps we all have a role to serve. Those who were dealt a lucky hand sit atop, while the rest of us remain damned for all eternity, struggling beneath their feet.

Colt seems to be the former. He has everything, doesn’t he? Friends, admirers, smarts, good looks, popularity. A family that loved him.

He matters.

Yet here he is in front of me, watching me try and fail to pull myself together. He doesn’t need to be here at the Jove Diner. I’m sure he has something far more important he could be attending to. When you’re on the football team, life is always hectic.

But here he is.

“You wanna know the worst part?” I ask, drying the last of my tears. “Some part of me was glad. Jenny was envious . . . of me.”

I really am a terrible person, aren’t I? Out of all the emotions, this was the one that ended up winning.

And I can’t say I never noticed these cynical behaviors in Jenny. When we first met, I was glad. I thought that was it, I’d finally found a friend that would surely last.

So I held on to that, even while she began diverging into different paths, discovering more of her own life. Even while she grew to be everything I wanted. Even when she turned out to be so selfishly self-absorbed. Even when she never listened. Even when she threw me under the bus, over and over and over again.

I just wanted someone there for me. It sure came at a hefty price, didn't it?

“It’s perfectly fine to feel that way,” Colt tells me. Was his voice always this calming? “Be glad, Dalia. She’s out of your life for good. You never needed her.”

But I did. That’s why I chose to turn a blind eye to her many flaws. Because I needed her here. Now she’s gone.

Colt finds my hand on the table and holds it in his. Once again, the warmth. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

The last I heard of this was from Jenny herself. There’s nowhere else to go but up. How laughable. It’s been downhill ever since.

Yet, it feels different from Colt. I want to believe him. I want so badly to take his word for it. But if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that there’s no space for bliss. Always expect the worst.

I look down at his hand, at the web of veins meshing. I’m reminded of that time a while ago when he’d almost severed my hand. To think I would allow those same hands touch me. To think I would find comfort in it.

Colt’s phone pings with a message, which he ignores—until it pings and pings again, and he’s forced to attend to it. There’s a tinge of irritation on his face when he lets my hand go.

As he reads through the message, I can see his face grow darker by the second. I suspect it must be from some acquaintance of his. Probably football related.

Colt pockets his phone, then gives me a look far more hospitable, one with that charming smile of his. “See you later.”

Then he’s gone, along with some of my worries.

___

Life goes on. Time flies by. Nothing changes.

It’s been three days since that incident with Jenny. It’s been three days since I last saw her. All our usual hangout spots have now become unusual; I avoid the places for fear of running into her. And so far, it’s been easy.

How could anyone ever love you when your own parents couldn't?

I have to put Jenny behind me. I have to move on with my shriveled life. I’m sure she already has. She’s better equipped for rainy days than I am. If not Option Number One, then Option Number Two. If not her boy toys, then some other friends of hers.

I have nothing but my withering will. You could hardly even call it a will now, more like an attempt at scraping together the last of my energy. But it’s working. I’m getting ready for work, and even while I would rather be anywhere else, I show up on time.

And the day goes on.

I manage to make it far. Not much complaint today, thankfully. But I know it all has to do with it being a Friday. Everyone’s gone off campus for the weekend, either partying or embarking on some other venture.

Then the same clique shuffles in. Colt and his friend Trace, along with that bastard who manages to grow an extra pair of horns every time I see him. Daniel.

I wonder why they’re here at this time of the day. It’s well past 10:00 P.M. Shouldn’t they be by someone’s well-furnished home laughing and poisoning themselves with alcohol? All while poking fun of a lonely girl who was wrongfully accused of beating up a star athlete of the basketball team.

I take a deep breath in and let it go. I do have something handy in case that ingrate Daniel decides to pry his mouth open. I’ve about had it with him.

But surprisingly, he stirs up no trouble, only a look of dread. There goes the sniffing again. Is he sick? And his eyes are red. I can’t have him and his contaminated hands anywhere near me.

The three plop down on a table without ordering. Meanwhile, I remain at my post, taking down any other orders from customers. There aren’t many at this point. It’s grown quite sparse.

I soon get a call from Colt’s table. At least Daniel isn’t sticking around. He tells the group he’ll be back soon, then leaves. Of course, not without throwing me a glare on his way.

This guy is just one big nimbostratus cloud, isn’t he?

I wonder how he managed to find a spot on the football team with that attitude.

“It’s you,” says Trace, gaping at me. “I haven’t seen you since the last time I was here.”

The last he saw of me was at the backyard gathering. How could he not remember? The alcohol must have really gotten to him.

“And if I remember correctly,” Trace continues. “I ordered a toaster strudel last time. Did you know you could toss those into a toaster? Slip them right in. I guess that’s why they’re called toaster strudels, huh.”

God. He probably thinks red bull does give him wings. I give him a smile. “You could try Baklavas. Doesn’t require any toasting.”

Trace shakes his head. “I love my pastries toasted. I just never realized I could toast toaster strudels.”

Okay, then. Whatever floats his boat.

I turn to Colt who’s been studying the menu. He points at some drink. “How much caffeine is in the Ristretto?”

“Four hundred milligrams.”

He thinks about it, then gives me the same smile. “I’ll just get a glass of water.”

I take the order down and go to fulfil the request. Once I have more free time on my hands, I tend to the trash cans in the kitchen area. The last task before the day ends, before I’m forced to once again relive the same dreary day tomorrow.

It’s gotten quite dark outside; I can hardly see a thing without the lamp glued to the back of the building. It’s also dead silent. I really despise being on trash duty, only because of this instance right here. I hate the dark.

I haul the trash bags towards the dumpster and begin tossing them in one at a time. Did I mention that I don’t get paid enough for this?

Then from behind me, “You.”

I turn only to see the madman himself. Daniel, looking ever so disgruntled. What does he want this time? But the more I look at him, the more I realize that he’s much worse than his usual self. The look in his eyes, it’s terrifying.

Before I know it, I begin backing away. “What do you want?”

“You took it, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice rough, loud, caked with so much anger.

I don’t even have the time to come to terms with his question. He’s heading for me this moment, every step heavy and charged with pure fury.

“WHERE IS IT?” Daniel demands, his hands around my neck, gripping my skin, digging my flesh.

My body isn’t used to this level of trepidation. I can barely find my own words. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“It was in a yellow pouch and now it’s gone!”

I have no clue what he’s looking for, but what I do know is I’m in danger. Daniel’s hand has grown sturdy around my throat. I can feel his palm so vividly, digging into me. My eyes have turned teary, my heart in a race against time itself. It won’t be long now until my air flow ceases.

He pulls me and slams my back against the dumpster. He really will kill me. I can tell from the look in his eyes.

“Just tell me where it is!” He screams, sounding a bit desperate.

He’s not the only one who is. I’m trying my best to pry his hands away from my neck. But they won’t budge. Not even an inch. He’s miles stronger than I am.

Why is this happening to me?

Daniel’s grip quickly loosens. Out of the blue. But it isn’t because he’s letting me go willingly. It’s because of . . . Colt. And the baseball bat in his hands.

I can’t make much out at the moment. I'm sucking in as much oxygen as I can, trying to replenish my organs. It’s all become such a blur. But I’m certain it’s Colt. He gives another blow straight to Daniel’s back, brutally, with all his might. I’m quite sure I heard the bat snap.

Colt takes a step back, still glowering at a barely conscious Daniel. Then I see the look on his face, the same one I saw that night behind the shop. Pure wickedness. Savagery. Viciousness.

It doesn’t end there. Colt lands another blow on Daniel’s leg, and then another on his arm, his torso. Rapidly, relentlessly, with so much ferocity.

At this rate, Daniel might die.

I manage to pull enough of myself together. I grab hold of Colt’s jacket to keep him from committing another crime. “Stop, you’ll kill him!”

It takes one last blow to Daniel’s body for Colt to finally stop. Then he takes a look at the bat, at how bloody and gnarly it’s become. Meanwhile, I can barely keep my strength up. My knees end up buckling, because the sight of Daniel is so unsavory. Blood, so much of it. His face is covered in it, and there are parts of his hair that are matted down from the stickiness.

“He’ll be fine.” Colt says, tossing the bat aside.

Fine . . . He will? Will he really? That’s good, right? He’s not dead. Gosh, there’s so much blood. That’s not normal, is it? My head is woozy, my eyes are spinning. I can’t breathe. I should try. It feels like I’m completely frozen. I can’t—

“Dalia.”

I shift my eyes away from Daniel’s body, towards Colt. He’s in front of me, squatting so we’re almost on the same level. And he’s smiling. Warmly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, caressing my cheek. There are streaks of blood on his hands from the violent show he just put on, and now it’s on my face.

I open my mouth, then close it. I still can’t make use of my voice, so instead I nod slowly.

Am I okay?

Colt smiles wider. “Good.”

He’s so calm. I should be too. I should try calming my heart down. I should try breathing. I should just try.

“Oh,” says Colt, taking notice of the blood on my face. He begins wiping it away with his unsullied fingers. “Sorry.”

Once he’s all done, he releases a deep sigh, as if the entire situation were just one big inconvenience to him. Yet, he retains that smile for me.

“Why don’t you head home and rest?” he suggests. “I’ll deal with him.”

I end up nodding once again. Then I take his advice and head home, with a broken mind and a voice that has become lost.