technically this is chapter 6. it's a rewrite because grammar mistakes + weird interactions + completely skipping sunday = a rewrite haha

not too much new stuff.... but still, new stuff :)

hope it's still enjoyable!

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

I tell Liam everything.

I tell him about the park where Tom and I first met. I tell him about the red curry I'd spilled on my yellow dress before our first kiss. I tell him about the day we moved in together, and the chunni fort we made in the living room. [scarf which accompanies most Indian woman clothing]

I tell him everything; he listens to everything.

His nose scrunches up when I tell him about being sprayed by a skunk the one time we tried camping. He wiggles his eyebrows when I mention that I lost my virginity to Tom. And his hands ball into fists when I recount Friday's events.

I talk and talk and talk, hoping that the talking will expunge Tom from my system.

Tom this and Tom that.

It's all I say.

Tom. Tom. Tom.

Liam takes it all.

He doesn't judge me; he doesn't pity me. He doesn't interrupt, just listening silently.

The only thing he says isn't even about me. It's just a game he insists we play: drink every time I say "Tom."

It's a small price to pay.

I comply.

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

By 2 a.m., there are two empty bottles on the floor, and Tom is long forgotten. Our third bottle is half empty, and we're both having trouble keeping our hands steady enough to pour ourselves another drink.

Eventually, I give up and lie down on the fluffy rug. I look up at Liam just as he looks down at me. Our eyes meet, and suddenly, we're both giggling like drunk little shits.

Are we drunk little shits?

Who knows?

Does it matter?

Who cares?

I reach out my arms and Liam gets the message. He hoists me up and holds me close. I laugh as he rubs his nose against mine playfully. His breath smells like bitter whiskey, but I don't mind; I'm sure mine does too.

I'm too drunk to notice the way his hands are on my waist. If anything, I'm leaning into it, enjoying the touch of his cold hands through the thin robe I'm wearing on my warm body.

"What are we doing?" I giggle.

Liam smiles with me and shrugs.

I turn my chin up to the ceiling so that I can stare straight into Liam's eyes. "I wanna do something."

He chuckles softly, swaying me in his arms. "Like what?"

"...I don't know."

That makes me frown. In my intoxicated state, I decide that not knowing something makes me unhappy.

"Wait," Liam tilts my chin back up with a single finger. "I have an idea."

His hands drop from my waist and one clasps my left hand. With a small tug, he shoots forward, dragging me through his house. A shriek escapes me, but I stumble behind him, not letting go of his hand.

I'm an impatient drunk, so I have to ask: "Where are we going?"

Liam's an all-the-time tease, so he answers: "You'll see."

Our footsteps patter in the dark as Liam leads me down a flight of stairs. I trip on the last stair, almost falling, but Liam catches me before I can faceplant on the floor.

"The muscles finally became useful," I mutter to myself.

"What was that?" Liam asks.

"What was what?" I repeat, already having forgotten what I said.

"I don't know," he complains. "You're the one who said it!"

I roll my eyes and push Liam forward so that he can resume the lead, "I didn't say anything. Now move! I'm bored of just standing here, you doofus."

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

Liam disappears from view when I enter an empty room.

Well, I think it's a room since he opened a door and pulled me inside - but I guess I don't know for sure.

I frown again. "I don't know." I really don't like that.

Those words suck.

Yes, they do. Very much.

I squint in the dark, trying to find Liam, but I can't see anything.

Suddenly, a dim glow erupts from the ground. Little lights line the corners where the walls meet the floor, and my eyes follow them around the room, finally seeing what's around me.

Rows of recliners rise in front of me, all facing a big, blank wall. A chime sounds from above my head, and as I look up to find the source of the noise, I get blinded by a big, bright screen.

I stifle a curse and press down on my eyelids to erase the burn of the sudden light. When I open my eyes, the perfect rectangle of white that is the screen is marred by the silhouette of Liam's right arm, which is raised above his head and bent at the elbow. Two long fingers lazily hold up a remote control.

Of course, I hurry over.

"Do you like it?" he asks when I've taken a seat beside him.

My fingers trace the armrest between us as I relax in the firm but cushioned recliner I've placed myself in. "I do, but I'm surprised this isn't made of gold and embedded with emeralds," I joke.

Liam's expression sours. "Gold thrones are deceptively uncomfortable," he tells me solemnly. "Trust me, I'd know."

"...Okay."

There's a few moments of silence, as we stare into each others' eyes, unsure of what to say. The screen dims and switches to a moving screensaver which reflects in Liam's eyes, the little sparkles glittering in his dark orbs like stars in the night sky.

It's beautiful. He's beaut-

"So... you have any movie suggestions?"

Movie?!

"No, but..." I make grabby hands toward Liam, or rather, the remote control in his hand. "Gimmie."

He raises it higher, an expression of mock outrage spread across his face. "I wanna be the one to press the buttons!"

"That's not fair. Can I choose what we watch then?"

Liam grins, his smile wider than should be humanly possible. "Maybe," he says, stretching out the vowels. "But the remote is mine. Hands go away!"

I huff and sit on my hands, rocking back and forth in anticipation.

If I was sober, I'd be repulsed by our behavior, questioning why we're both acting like toddlers. But I'm drunk, so our actions don't register as abnormal. All I care about at this moment is picking out the perfect movie.

"Let's watch something scary!" I say excitedly.

Liam turns to me, his eyes wide. "Like... a rom-com?"

I have to hold a hand in front of my face to hide my gag. "No, Liam. I said scary, not stupid. Like a horror movie."

It's impossible for a tall, buff, usually arrogant man to look scared per se, but I see Liam's pupils dilate further as he chews on his lower lip. "No. We're not doing that."

"Scaredy cat," I cough into my fist.

"Bitch," he shoots back.

I roll my eyes at the unimaginative response. "That's not a good comeback, you fucking pussy."

"At least I didn't get cheated on because my pussy wasn't good enough."

It's like waking up. Or having a bucket of ice water dumped on your head. Take your pick, both suck as much as the words "I don't know".

Clarity washes over me in waves, cleansing my mind of any buzz I have from the alcohol. My heart constricts so tight that, for a moment, I'm sure that I'll have to pull it out of my chest immediately.

I'm so stupid.

This. This is the Liam I know - the real Liam. The Liam from five years ago. The Liam I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't get involved with.

The Liam who is currently smirking at me.

"Do you get it?" he says in that obnoxious voice of his. "Because your boyfriend, T-"

"Shut up!" I don't realize that I've yelled until I notice Liam wince and covers his ears.

Despite how much a jerk he's just been, I feel my stomach sink at fact that I hurt him. He was my friend for a while. I can't forget that.

I take a deep breath to calm down, then speak with a gentle voice, "I... I am sorry. I'm... Liam, I'm going to go now."

"Wait... we didn't even pick a movie yet."

"It's late, I need to go."

"Oh, okay." Liam turns away, clicking buttons on the remote to select a movie of his choice. "Bye, Diana."

My name isn't-

No, I don't care anymore. There's no use being nice. Liam always does what he wants, when he wants, as he wants.

Screw you, Liam.

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

Getting out is easy.

I'd learned earlier that the garage has a normal door, with a normal lock, allowing for an easy turn of a doorknob and a clean escape.

I don't bother changing out of Liam's robe before rushing out of the mansion. I only stop to pick up the bag of my - sorry, Elliott's - clothes and slip on my heels.

Liam's stupid glass garage is left open behind me, and the petty part of me hopes that somebody takes note of this opportunity and snatches away his precious cars.

They're the only thing he cares about anyway.

In all seriousness, I wouldn't mind taking a hammer to his headlights.

I don't want to be arrested for property damage, though, so I gather all my self-control and leave his cars alone.

Now, I stand at the edge of Liam's driveway, shivering in the cold. It's been a couple of minutes, and I'm probably only five more away from becoming a popsicle, but the app on my phone tells me my Uber is only two minutes away. I should be able to last that long.

I'll count the seconds.

Don't-freeze-one...

Don't-freeze-two...

Don't-freeze-three...

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

Sure enough, exactly 120"Don't freeze"s later, a beat-up Lexus drives up to me. The driver's window slides down, and I find myself looking into the eyes of a very tired, very young, boy.

The ground wobbles beneath me as I take a step closer. Or, maybe, it's my unsteady feet.

No. It's the ground.

The boy behind the wheel gives me a look before quickly checking his phone. "Are you Diamond?"

"Yes. Do you have a license?"

He scowls at me. "Yes."

He looks like a baby teenager - if there even is such a thing; I don't buy it. "Are you sure?"

"Very." He sighs, "Look, Miss, I know I have a babyface, but I can't do anything about it. I'm just a broke college kid."

"Oh. Sorry... uh, can I still see it though? Your license, I mean."

The boy squeezes his eyes shut, and I think he's going to drive away from me when he opens his eyes again and shifts a little so that he can pull out his wallet. He holds out a card with his face on it - he basically looks like a baby in the picture - and I take it into my own hands.

Truth be told, I don't know how to detect a real license from a fake. Not that it'd make a difference if I did - my vision is blurry, and I can barely read the biggest words in blue on the card. I rationalize that having any sort of license - fake or real - shows this boy's dedication to the Uber cause and that he truly does just need the money. If he's this prepared, even with his extreme babyface, maybe I can trust him to drive me home.

So after a quick glance, I hand the plastic card back and climb into the backseat. I strap myself in securely with the seatbelt and eye the second one a couple inches away.

Should I use both...?

I reach over and roughly tie the second seatbelt across my torso, creating a cross that holds me pressed against the back of the seat. My heels lift my feet off the floor of the small car so that my knees come up past my belly button; it's weird, but also makes me feel like I'm curled up in a ball. For an added sense of security, I hug my bag close to me.

Hopefully, we won't die - or worse, be pulled over.

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

The boy doesn't talk to me. He doesn't turn the radio on either, leaving the empty silence in the car to remain just that - empty. Other than the brief second of eye-contact we make when he looks in his rearview mirror when I catch him watching me strap myself in my seat, he ignores my existence.

It doesn't bother me. Maybe, another night, it would have; but tonight, I couldn't care less. My mind is too preoccupied with Liam's slip of words.

At least I wasn't cheated on because my pussy wasn't good enough.

At least I wasn't cheated on.

Cheated on.

Cheated on, cheated on, cheated on, cheated on, cheated on.

The two words become a chant as I try to understand what they truly mean. I know I told Liam about Tom. The alcohol loosened me up to the point where I described it in detail.

I even told Liam my profound realization: Tom doesn't love me.

I said it; I accepted it - the best I could, anyway. There are lots of people who don't love me. It's never bothered me before, why should it now? Granted those "lots of people" don't know me, and I, them, but still.

I'm bothered by something different right now.

Cheated on. Those words are new. I've never been cheated on. Judging by the way tears are burning their way into my eyes once again and my lungs can't seem to find any oxygen in the air I'm breathing in, being cheated on hurts more than not being loved.

Not being loved is a reality you just have to take. Being cheated on is like living in a reality based on lies. It's sweet and lovely and safe and beautiful...

Until the lie shows up, and suddenly, everything turns to flame and ash.

Tom's lies were catastrophic. His lips always said the words "I love you", but he didn't mean it. Not only that, but he was also busy loving someone else behind my back.

Cheated on.

Cheated on, cheated on, cheated on.

I was cheated on.

"I was cheated on," the words leak from my lips in a weak whisper.

A voice replies, "Oh... I'm sorry to hear that, Miss."

The boy's eyes stay on the road, but his voice carries through the car to me. I don't know what to say back, so I keep quiet. A hush falls upon us.

Then, the boy's voice speaks out once more, "Is that who you're leaving right now? Are they in that huge mansion place?"

Who I'm leaving right now? In the mansion...?

"No, no way. Me and Liam? That's not - that'll never be," My words come out in fragments, all panicky and confused. I pause, recollect my thoughts, and try again, "I was leaving that place to escape a different prick. You're driving me to my house."

We're driving through downtown Vancouver, and the late-night city lights illuminate the boy's flushed face. "Sorry, Miss," he says.

I'm about to tell him that it's fine, when he continues, "At least it'll be nice to be in your own bed, right? You get to forget about whoever cheated on you."

My own bed.

Forget about the cheating.

My heart races. I can't go back. How could I think otherwise? The bed. I can't go back to that bed. That's where...

"I found them in my bed. Our bed."

The boy lets out a low whistle. "Wow, you're brave! I mean, that's gutsy. Are you gonna sleep in your bed? To stick it to your ex? "

Brave? Gutsy? Sleep in my bed? The same bed?

No. I can't do that. I could never, will never. I'm not strong. I'm not brave.

I can't go back to that place.

My hands leave the handle of the bag in my lap and grip the door handle instead. I lean over to look out of the window and see a recognizable, tall building. Hotel. "Can you pull over here please?"

"Here, Miss? Sure." The boy sounds uncertain, but he does as I say.

The second he puts the car in park, I unravel myself from the mess of seatbelts keeping me strapped in place. Then, I pull out my phone, talking as I tap on the necessary places in order to pay the boy. "I think I'm going to get off here itself. Thank you for bringing me here."

I pull on the door handle and push the door open and get out of the car, one hand holding my bag, the other still typing - this time, the tip. I finish within a few seconds and bend down a little, knocking on the window. He looks at me perplexed as his window rolls down. "Something else, Miss?"

"Thank you," I say, "For, you know, driving me safely despite maybe being an underage driver with a possibly fake license." He huffs, so I rush to finish, "And also, thank you for talking to me. And being nice. I wish you luck on your future endeavors - may they be prosperous enough that you do not remain a broke college kid."

His eyes soften, and it makes me want to keep talking. So I say one last thing, "And I also hope your face matures - for your own sake. Maybe you can grow some facial hair? A mustache?"

I turn away without waiting for a response. After all, it's the kind of early in the morning that is generally considered to be late night; I want to find a safe bed, and the boy needs to go home too. My 200 dollar tip should allow him to get a couple of extra hours of sleep today.

Fingers crossed.

He was a nice, albeit broke and kiddish looking, driver. Maybe I'll get him to drive for me again someday.

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

All alone, on my own, it takes me a minute to understand the revolving glass door. But once I do, I find myself having a blast, getting lost in the motion of spinning and spinning. I go round and round in circles, laughing loudly because all this twirling and whirling is making my body dizzy and my brain fuzzy.

The sky is dark and the street is empty. It's just the city and me.

When I get tired of going forward, I try to reverse, clutching the bag in both my hands as I press my back against the door and push backward. Unfortunately, the abrupt change in direction has me losing balance. My feet slip out of my unstrapped heels and my hands let go of the bag as fall.

My palms hit the ground before the rest of my body as I let out a graceful, "Ow! Ow! Ow! My hands! Ow!"

The coolness of the floor seeps through the silky material of the robe and sends shivers up my spine. It reminds me of my initial goal: to find a safe, warm bed.

I groan exaggeratedly and pull myself up, reaching out for my heels and stuffing my feet into them. I take extra care to fasten the little belt thing in the front which always takes me an embarrassingly long time to strap. When that's done, I pick up my bag and stand, leaving the revolving door at last.

The main entrance's lights are dimmed and there's no one sitting at the big reception desk in the front. Light instrumental music plays from wall-speakers and my nose scrunches up at the boring music.

If there's going to be music, it should be something you can dance to!

I choose to explore a little more - if only to get away from the lifeless tunes - going down the one hallway to my right until I find a smaller reception area.

A tall, burly man stands stoic in the corner. His one hand holds onto a baton as his sharp eyes continuously scan the room. When they finally land on me, he clears his throat and a woman's head peeks up at me from behind a small desk. She looks me up and down, then exchanges a glance with the guard. His eyes harden.

I murmur a greeting and move toward the woman behind the desk who eyes me with suspicion.

Do I look weird?

I look down at myself to check. My heels are strapped and they're both on their corresponding foot; I'm holding a random, but no doubt high-end, grocery bag, filled with clothes; and Liam's robe, although flimsy, is long on me, coming down mid-calf, and keeping me fully covered.

I don't see anything worth staring at. I mean, my hair may be a little disheveled, but it's not my fault I didn't have a comb!

She is working the night-shift... maybe she's just seeing things.

"Ma'am?" A nasal voice interrupts my thoughts.

I make my way toward the woman, smiling as wide as I can. "Hi! I'd like a room, please."

The woman takes a deep breath, which causes her face to sour before her eyes dart back to the guard and she raises an eyebrow.

Naturally, I look to him too. I've got no clue why, but at least this way I can pretend I know what's going on.

My patience peters out quickly though, and I blurt out, "Sorry, will I be getting a room?"

The woman finally turns her attention to me and plasters a wide smile on her face. "I suppose so," she mutters to herself. A few moments later, she speaks again, "I can have a room ready in half an hour. Twin bed for one night. Can I get a name?"

Half an hour?! Twin bed? Pity. Beggars can't be choosers I remind myself. "Diamond Diademe - that's the name."

At this, the guard stirs suddenly. He makes it to the desk in two, long strides and leans over to whisper into the woman's ear. I catch the words "publishing", "Bhatia", and "daughter" before her face pales, her eyes go back to her computer, and her fingers fly across the keyboard.

"My apologies, Miss Diademe," she says, biting on her lip nervously as she continues to type frantically. "Just one moment, please. I'm asking our night-staff to prepare one of our best rooms. Why don't you take a seat in the meanwhile; I'll come to you as soon as they're done."

"I'd like extra pillows, please," I add quietly. And with that, I turn away and settle myself into one of the reception couches.

Ah. Finally, a good couch.

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

Just as I'm about to doze off in my seat, I feel a small hand push gently on my shoulder. "Miss Diademe, your room is ready."

"Ah, yes. Do you need my card?" I ask and stretch my hands above my head.

"I have your room key right here," the woman says, handing me a small plastic card. "I booked you for this night; check-out is at 5 p.m. today. You're free to just go and relax now, and you can check-out or extend your stay later in the morning. You can pay then, too, at your convenience.

"Very well," I say, picking up my bag from the door of the couch and standing up, "I'll see you later then. Good night - or rather, good morning."

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

There's a special slot in the elevator for "top floors". The floor number on my room key says 47; the individual buttons beside the slot only go up till 25. I swipe my card into the slot and press the "close door" button, bracing myself for the initial jerk of the elevator.

Turns out, the entire floor is my room.

However, I don't have it in me to express any excitement at that fact. I have a mission; it's a very important mission: find the bed.

Well, okay. Maybe I get a little distracted.

I make use of the 75" television in the "living room" first, spending ten minutes standing in front of the widescreen, watching the end of whatever late-night show rerun is playing. Then I spend a couple more minutes making weird faces at myself in front of the pristine bathroom mirror - which is lined with LEDs that change colors by remote control!

The mirror also shows me a new pimple I have on the side of my face, where my sharper-than-glass, totally-killer jawline would be - if I had a jawline.

Ugh. I bet it's the stress. Stress pimples are the worst.

Oh, and before I forget: the fridge is empty, but the minibar is stocked. And there's dish soap under the kitchenette sink!

By the time I saunter my way into the bedroom, I've made myself familiar with the whole floor. My feet hurt as they press against the cold, hardwood flooring; I'd kicked off my heels earlier, leaving them somewhere near the elevator.

With a sigh, I drop the bag in a closet and make my way to the window which takes up most of the wall. I look outside.

From this height, cars look like little ants, their tiny lights blinking on and off like the fireflies in the summer. Beside the roads, on the sidewalks, I see dark spots moving - people. They're practically nonexistent, just specks on the ground. I press my hands to the glass and cover the people below me with my fingertips. To me, it looks like I've crushed them.

I can't help but think: Is this how Tom saw me?

So small, so insignificant. Not worth the truth, easily crushed by a lie.

I close the curtains and turn away.

Tom cheated on me.

Liam said so.

Liam.

His name causes the remnants of the alcohol in my mouth to sour even further.

I drop Liam's robe to the ground. Then I bunch up the material and toss it in a bin underneath the desk. Too bad the room doesn't have a fireplace.

I'm sure Liam has many robes - he won't miss this one. And if he does, I know he can afford another.

I slide under the covers and stretch my limbs out, taking up the entire bed. The clock on the bedside table tells me that it's a little past four in the morning. That means I'm already four hours into Sunday. So far, it hasn't been the best.

Hopefully things change...

One moment, my head is fuzzy, and my body, warm. The next, my mind is blank and I am asleep.

I forget I am Diamond, and succumb to my subconsciousness.

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

hello again :)

umm...all imma say is be ready for an all-new chapter seven in.... two weeks! :D

until next time...

all my love, and then some more,

JustAnotherDarling

and don't forget to vote! :)