We're about five minutes away from the office when I realize that I'm still wearing Elliott's clothes and that I've left my dress on his kitchen counter.

Ah, crap.

I unlock my phone to text him. It's only when a blank screen stares up at me once I've typed in the name "Elliott" that I remember: I never got his number.

Oh well. I was going to wash these clothes anyway. I guess I'll just return them at work on Monday.

While I'm musing, Vivian parks the car across the street from a tall building. We've reached the office. The establishment is empty, seeing as it's 11 o'clock, but every light is on, illuminating a man sitting on the curb: Liam.

With his flaming red hair practically glowing and his head tucked into his chest, Liam is looking every bit a "fallen angel," and he's catching the eye of men and women alike.

The words spill out of my lips disapprovingly, "Oh my God, he's sitting on the curb."

Vivian looks at me quizzically. "Are you here to pick him up?"

"Unfortunately so."

"You gonna need another ride then, Ma'am?"

"Not tonight, no. I'm here because this dolt can't leave his car behind, actually. I have to drive him home."

"Ah, well, good luck to you, eh?"

Smart woman.

"Thanks, I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

I say bye to Vivian and get out of the car. She drives away as I jay-walk across the street to Liam. There's a bottle of whiskey in his hands, half-empty, and he cradles it close to his chest. I stand beside him, waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't.

Finally, I give in and scold him, "Hey, doofus." I shake my head. Wait, that's not his actual name. "Liam, look up."

When he does, I'm terrified to see tears in his eyes. I barely make out what he's saying through his worsened slur, "You said you were on your way. I've been waiting too long for you to have been on your way."

I resist the urge to face-palm. He's so dumb for sitting out here. It's pretty cold, and I can see him shivering despite the woolen sweater he's wearing.

Still, there's a small part of me that feels guilty. I hadn't told him how long I'd take, and I've been cursing his existence the whole drive here - even if he doesn't know about that part.

That's why I swallow all the insults I had prepared for him, and extend a hand instead, "Come on, Liam. Let's get you home."

He stands up, still handling the bottle of whiskey like a precious artifact. I take it away and open my palm to him. He puts his hand in mine and I shriek, "No! Liam, oh my God. I need your keys, I'm driving you home."

He squints at me. "My keys? I'm not letting you drive my car!"

I came all the way here for this man because he wouldn't take an Uber home, and now he says this? I can't believe it.

There's a significantly large part of me that wants to argue with him, but the pakoras are getting heavy in my stomach and I'm tired. I guess coming here was pointless. "Okay then, I'm going to get you a cab, and you're going to get in it. This is non-negotiable because I want to go home."

At this, Liam scrunches up his nose, "I'm not going home alone, what if I'm kidnapped?!"

My patience with this man has disappeared. I'm starting to think I imagined my guilt. "I think the probability of that happening is quite low, because 1. you are not a kid, and 2. no one wants you. Can you please do this?" I plead.

"No. Drop me off at home," Liam insists, acting more like a stubborn little child right now than anything else. "You kept me waiting alone in the cold, it's the least you can do."

And the guilt comes back. "Fine."

***************************

We're both sitting on the curb, huddled closer together than I'll ever admit, by the time my second Uber of the night arrives. It's just too cold, and Elliott's t-shirt doesn't provide me with any warmth. There's also the added fact that Liam's body is giving off delicious heat - something I'm taking advantage of.

My underdeveloped arm muscles strain as I try to lift Liam enough so that I can get him into the backseat of a small Honda sedan. I managed to make sure Liam didn't drink any more, but it seems as though the longer any alcohol remains in his system, the more loose-lipped he becomes.

"Why are you making me sit in this old contraption? Couldn't you have gotten a Mercades at least, Diana?"

Oh yes, there's that too. I think Liam's forgotten that my name is Diamond because now he's calling me Diana.

"Shut up. It's taking you home," I say, shoving Liam one last time, successfully getting his whole body into the vehicle.

I slam the door shut so he can't try to escape, and walk to the other side of the car. After I sit down, the car starts slowly, merging into the night-time traffic. Liam must have already given our driver a destination.

I'm so tired.

My head rests against the window, and my eyes flutter shut.

I get less two minutes of rest though, because just as I feel myself slipping away to dreamland, a heavy head lands on my shoulder. My eyes jerk open to see Liam sleeping on me. His mouth is dangerously close to my neck, and I can feel his every exhalation on my skin, soft and warm. A tremor runs through me every time he breathes out.

I take the opportunity to secretly observe his face. Liam's eyebrows aren't scrunched up in disgust anymore, so his forehead is free of wrinkles. His mouth forms a little open-mouthed pout, and it causes his sharp, angular face to look softer, almost... vulnerable.

Wow, vulnerability?

It's a completely foreign thing for me to see on Liam's face. It makes him appear more human and less smug, arrogant bastard.

I want to shove Liam off of me and not care about waking him up, but I can't find it in me to do it. His slumbering expression is too peaceful to disturb.

I shift a little so that if Liam moves, his lips won't press up against any part of me - because I know I'd never recover from that, accident or not.

***************************

I can't fall asleep with Liam so close to me, so I gaze out of the window.

Skyscrapers become beachside homes, all squished together. Still, we go further. The homes start spacing out and becoming bigger - mansions, with private pools and acres of grassy, sandy land.

Apparently, one of those mansions is Liam's.

When we stop outside the address Liam has provided, even our driver is gaping at the spectacular modern mansion looming ahead of us.

With much difficulty, I wake Liam up and get him out of the car. Our driver speeds off before I can ask him to stay. Oh well, I'll just call another Uber to take me to my parents' home. Hopefully, I can get one.

Liam's still groggy from his little nap in the car, and he leans on me for support. I find myself wondering how such a fit man can be so heavy. One thing's for sure, I certainly never thought the day would come when I'm uncomfortable with having huge muscles pressed up against me.

I stagger forward, dragging Liam with me to the front door. It's eight feet of iron and glass and contrasts beautifully with the otherwise white exterior of the mansion. There's no lock, but a PIN-pad by the side of the door instead. I'm about to ask Liam what the password is, but he stumbles in front of me, covering the PIN-pad with his body, as he thumbs in the necessary code.

The door slides open seamlessly only a second later and it's like a million lights turn on at once. Oh my God. If I thought the outside of this place screamed "luxury", there are no words to describe the interior.

Abstract paintings line the walls elegantly. Is that a Pollock?! Marble flooring spreads throughout the home, leading to a spiral staircase on the right. Straight ahead, there's a living room of sorts, with a high ceiling and the most magnificent chandelier I've ever seen. It's more extravagant than anything my imagination could have come up with.

"Alright, Liam," I say. "Where's your bedroom?"

The idiot grins. "Are you trying to sleep with me, Diana?"

I wish he'd stop calling me that. For all I know, Diana is the name of one of his previous one-night-stands - and that's something I will never be.

"Would you rather I drop you here and let you sleep on the ground?" I shoot back.

His smile fades and he points upstairs.

***************************

I lose five years of my life getting Liam up those stairs. I blame the fact that there are nearly 50 of them.

Okay, maybe it doesn't take five years, and maybe there aren't actually so many stairs, but it sure feels like it! At one point, Liam even sits down in the middle of the stairs and refuses to get up again. I have to threaten him with death by back-of-my-heels impalement to get him up off his ass.

After that, I have to dictate actions for Liam to follow. Each one several times.

"Left foot up," I sigh, "Move it a little forward. And... now put it down."

"Why don't you just pick me up?"

"Because you're a heavy moron. Now, less stupid questions, and more listening."

I regret doing the right thing. I could have still been at Elliott's house right now, enjoying his company and the fire, or at my parents' place, sleeping.

I want to go to sleep so bad.

But no. I'm here. With Liam.

And Liam is impossibly difficult. I wish being drunk made him easier to deal with, but I have no such luck. All I know now is that if my own kids end up being this exhausting, I might have to give them up for adoption.

Can I put Liam up for adoption? Maybe in Greenland. Then I'll never have to hear from him again.

"I'm twenty-seven," comes a grumble. "You can't put me up for adoption."

Oops, I said that out loud.

"Says the man who was afraid of being kidnapped," I counter. "Enough of this. Right foot now, Liam. Let's go, up, up!"

***************************

I'm huffing and puffing by the time we reach Liam's bedroom. And Liam? He's practically snoring into my shoulder.

I push the double doors open and pull Liam into the room.

The only light comes in from a large window. Tonight's full moon shines down on Liam's own stretch of beach, and I watch as the waves crash onto the shore silently. Then, I turn to my companion and dump him on his bed. He sinks into navy colored silk sheets and starts mumbling incoherently.

I ignore his gibberish and help him by tugging off his shoes and socks, placing them by the foot of his bed. Liam's fingers fumble with his belt buckle, and I blink furiously, looking away.

I'm not helping him with that. The last thing I need is another joke from him about us having sex. The thought is enough to make me feel sick.

I walk away from Liam's struggle and open a door across from his bed. It's his bathroom. I know because the second I walk through the doorway, I'm blinded by an abundance of light. Of course, motion sensor lights.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I open drawers and cabinets, searching for the blue bottle of hangover reliever (Advil, of course). I'll put it on his bed stand along with a glass of water for tomorrow morning. He's definitely going to need it, and I figure this is one last thing I can do for him before I leave.

I find nothing but expensive glass bottles of cologne and crystalline jars filled with different creams. My eyes narrow as I eye the golden electric razor on the counter, which is encrusted with a rim of emeralds. I guess now I know what Liam's paycheck goes toward.

In fact, the whole bathroom is a den of jewels. From the crystals lining the edge of the mirror to the beads of ruby on the sides of a massive tub in the middle of the room, there's not a single surface in the bathroom not blinged-out.

I inadvertently scrunch up my nose at the excessive show of wealth.

Though my family has been very lucky to be able to afford anything we desire, I've been raised in a conservative Indian household. One of the first things I was taught is to save. Save money for the future. Save water when I wash my hair. Hell, even save dish soap by diluting it in water to make it last longer.

By what I see, I'm left debating whether Liam even knows what it means to save, much less how to. I shrug the thought off. It's not my problem.

What is my problem, however, is finding that Advil!

I stick my head out of the bathroom and ask, "Hey Liam, where's your Advil?"

I hear a snore in response.

My eyes narrow and I squint into the room until I can make out a human-sized lump sprawled on the bed. I roll my eyes and walk out of the bathroom. Okay, the Advil's not my problem either I guess. His loss.

Liam's belt is unbuckled but lies on his hips, still threaded into the loops of his trousers, and he's passed out cold. His chest rises and falls softly, and a few strands of his hair have fallen over his eyes. My hand reaches out and carefully brushes them out of his face.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, "Sweet dreams, Liam."

***************************

I go down the stairs - a feat much simpler than going up was - and walk to the front door. I'm feeling drowsy, and I'm hoping the chilly air outside will keep me awake until I can get a ride.

The house is dark and eerily quiet. But that doesn't unsettle me. I know that the automatic lights must have turned off. But I'm going to be out of here soon, so I don't bother looking for a light switch.

My focus is on the door.

There's no doorknob on Liam's front door, so I push on it with a hand in front of me. It doesn't budge. I try again, using the side of my body instead. The door doesn't move a millimeter.

My eyes widen, incredulous. I look around the door, trying to find if there's a button that it's wired to or a latch I have to pull on and find a PIN-pad to my left, identical to the one outside. My fingers fly to the buttons, searching for anything that'll open the door. There's just a keypad, and I don't know the password.

What kind of home security system doesn't let a person leave the house?!

I slump against the door. The grandeur of this home is wearing off, and I'm starting to see things that aren't really there. The walls seem to be dripping with darkness, and the paintings I was admiring only a little while ago feel ominous. This mansion is starting to feel like a fortress.

Snap out of it, I order myself. Find a way to get out.

My eyes follow the faint shadows on the walls to windows on my right, and a ludicrous idea comes to my mind.

I stand, walking to the panels of glass. My hands find the edge of the windows and heave. Come on, windows. Please open.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead and I know my fingers are going to have painful indents in them when I pull them away. Finally, the window pops open. I push it so that I can fit my body through it, and look out.

My jaw drops. It's a 20-foot drop.

I must have missed that when we were walking to the front door.

With the light shining off of the moon, I see that there's an elevated path leading to the front door. The path doesn't extend beneath the window, so turns out that it's higher up than I anticipated.

I'm not going to jump out of the window anymore. I don't want to die tonight.

My frustration gets the best of me, and I scream out into the night.

***************************

I finally snap out of it when a cold gust of wind slaps my face. I sigh, tugging on the window, trying to get it to close. It doesn't move.

"Whatever," I mutter. At this point, I can't find it in me to care.

I guess I'm going to have to wake Liam up after all.

***************************

"Liam," I hiss. "Liam, wake up. You need to open the door so I can leave this place!"

"No, I don't want to have sex. I'm so tired, I don't even think I can get it up right now."

I gasp. How the heck did he get that from what I said?

"First thing in the morning though, I promise. We'll go several times, okay?" Liam mumbles into his pillow. His face isn't even facing me, and I'm starting to consider the possibility that he's just sleeptalking.

Still, my throat constricts and I gag. Oh, God, I'm going to puke if he keeps talking. I push on his shoulder, trying to shake him awake. "Liam, wake up!"

To this, Liam simply grunts and pulls the pillow over his head.

"Liam!"

I get a muffled, "Go away!" before I hear snores.

My mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. I don't know what else to say. My eyes blaze with anger and I storm out of his room.

I stomp down the stairs, purposefully being as loud as I can be without breaking the heels off my shoes. Every three stairs or so, I pause and turn an ear toward Liam's room, hoping I've woken him up and he'll let me leave.

He doesn't wake up. I don't get to leave.

I reach the bottom of his stairs, fuming.

Fine. I decide that if I'm going to be trapped in this mansion, I might as well get some sleep.

I walk around in the dark, occasionally stumbling, and find myself in the living room. Above me hangs the stunning chandelier I'd caught sight of when coming in. There are high-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean, and the moon casts light on an impressively sized couch.

It would seem that I've found my bed for the night.

I take off my heels and fall onto the couch.

***************************

Ten minutes later, I'm still turning left and right, unable to find an agreeable position for my back.

This couch is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever laid on. Sure, it's beautiful and works well with the rest of the room, but where it matters most, it falls short! My ever-present annoyance with Liam starts to increase even more.

Only Liam would spend a fortune on everything in his house but buy a stupid sofa.

Instead of soft and squishy, this couch is the least bit cushioning possible, and wide and hard. Iron armrests rise up from the sides, and I wouldn't be surprised if I found iron rods underneath the thin cloth covering this piece of furniture.

I could jump on it and it'd be fine - my foot would need a cast, though.

It's almost as if it is meant for something other than sitting or sleeping on. Maybe something rough and wild, like -

Oh my God.

I get off the sofa as fast as I can.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Of course, Liam would purchase a couch for purposes other than sitting. Gross!

I glare up at the chandelier above my head, focusing all my anger toward it, so that I don't lose control and storm back upstairs and murder a certain someone.

I am never doing the right thing again.

I'm left shuffling, unsure. What am I going to do now?

The fluffy shag rug underneath me tickles my feet. Curiously, I sit down.

Oh. Oh, this is quite nice. I forget that I'm on a rug and lie down. A content hum slips past my lips as my fingers play with soft tufts of material.

It's been a long, eventful day. Possibly the most heartbreaking, confusing, annoying day I've ever had to live through. I want to think and try to process everything that has happened. I want to understand why everything happened the way it did. And I wouldn't mind just drowning myself in a pool of self-pity either.

But I'm tired. So tired.

A cold draft comes in the room, presumably from the window I opened and abandoned. Goosebumps rise on my arms and I shiver. I wrap my arms around me in a feeble attempt at keeping myself warm and close my eyes.

It doesn't matter how cold I am or how many unorganized thoughts clutter my mind. Sleep comes fast.

One last thought floats around my mind before I feel my consciousness leave my body.

Tom.

I forget I am Diamond, and sleep like the dead.

***************************

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