THERE HAS TO BE  a cut-off level for the amount of karma that can be thrown at one person in a weekly period. And I'm positive I've hit that limit at least three unfortunate events ago.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" I ask, a polite smile frozen on my face.

Nikki stands with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed and lethal, all-too familiar. "Twenty-one hundred dollars. You owe me twenty-one hundred, and you're going to send it to me. Right now. Don't think I don't know about your little job."

"Job? Never heard of her."

She doesn't laugh, and the scowl engraved on her face deepens. Spiritually, I can feel her murdering me in the most gruesome of ways. It's pretty terrifying, to the point where I hold a palm to my chest, making sure that I'm still alive and in one piece. Which, thankfully, I am.

I can make no promises for five minutes in the future me.

Her crossed arms hare now emphasized with a tap of her shoe, rhythmic and homicidal. I swallow. My gaze falls behind her shoulder and across the hotel room where Nat is innocently sipping a mimosa, pearly sash draped along her body and honey blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. When she meets my eye and then looks to Nikki's 5'4 and somehow still intimidating figure, Nat shoots me a sheepish shrug.

I look back to Nikki, and my nose crinkles. "Okay, okay- you caught me. I have a job now. It's true. Maybe we should cheers?" I lift my mimosa hopefully, but then immediately regret the decision. "No cheers, got it. Money. Okay. Let's talk."

"Did I not make myself clear? Twenty-one hundred dollars."

I nod my head, sucking in a deep breath, the zeros still ringing in my head. "You did throw around that number. I did hear that. Now, let me throw this out there-"

With my mouth open and ready to make some sort of weak defense, I look to her face, and my resolve begins to wilt. Something like a conscious has the feeble excuse of money being tied up at the bank evaporating from my mouth before I can even get it passed my lips. Instead, my shoulders slump.

"Fine," I relent, heaving a tired sigh. "You got me. I'll do it."

"Fine?" Nikki echoes, eyes widening a fraction as her arms fall to her side. "You're actually going to pay me back?"

My brows furrow. "Don't look so surprised, okay? I have some decency." I ignore her lady-like snort while hauling my over-sized faux leather bag onto my lap. "Listen, I don't know who you think you're talking to about twenty-hundred dollars right now-"

"I knew it."

"But," I continue, holding up a hand and preventing any more low-blows to my character from slipping past her mouth, "I'll give you 500, to tide you over, and the rest I'll pay back as soon as I get settled in my new place. You can literally hunt me down for it. I'll even tell you where I live. Or Nat will, because apparently she can't keep her mouth shut about anything."

At her name, the girl of the hour perks up, lifting her glass with a wolfish grin. "If you've got time to talk shit tonight, you've got time to take a shot."

Before I can react, Nikki's stepping into my line of view, arms characteristically folded over her chest as if she's already predicted my response. Her lips thin.

"Now."

I nod, not even thinking to protest, and then begin fishing my phone from my purse. Nikki's hawk-like gaze is unwavering as my thumbs brush along the glass screen, and with a heavy heart, I show her the confirmation of the e-transfer as soon as the deed is done.

She takes a moment to drink it in, eyes narrowing in doubt, before she nods. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook for the rest."

Then Nikki's sweeping over to the opposite side of the room, to a table meticulously arranged with pastel pink napkins, an overflowing charcuterie board, and a bag of Cheetos that were my very significant addition.

The hotel, the dinner, the smoked extra-aged cheddar and foie gras were all charged to Cecilia's credit card, with my helpful additions being my patience, my time, and my Cheetos. There wasn't much I could do anyway, considering that she'd already had a binder, colour-coded and highlighted to the nines that cared little about what I thought about bachelorette party etiquette.

"I'm so glad I invited you, Nikki! Isn't it fun that everyone could make it?" Cecilia beams, wearing the same broad grin that's been stitched onto her face since the night has started. "You guys are seriously too funny."

I shrug. "I mean, what's funnier than living in the fiery pits of debt, am I right?"

Nat arches a brow at me with a small smirk, a look I know will be the first of many tonight, but Cecilia in all Cecilia-fashion lets it roll off her shoulder like nothing. She laughs, a voice like wind-chimes in a hurricane, and I throw her back an empty smile that I've practiced to an unnatural degree for the past week.

I'm honestly surprised Nat hasn't bestowed me with a trophy for not murdering, maiming, or even emotionally destroying Cecilia through our time together. Even if it got pretty close when she wouldn't stop harassing me about the essential difference between ballet-slipper and baby pink napkins that would completely decide our bachelorette party fate.

We went with ballet-slipper.

I think.

I was clearly more concerned with the tiny-penis shot glasses and getting bottle service at the strip-club. I had more important things on my mind.

"Okay, so we have dinner here at 8, and then we're going to come back up here for a couple fun bachelorette games," her voice lowers as if she's talking about something sultry or devious, when she is, in fact, talking about "sexy" scrapbooking and charades, "and then I think Vika has something planned."

Nat catches my eye.

"Spoiler alert, it's various half-naked men gyrating with their crotch in your face."

Nat bursts out laughing, along with our mutual university friend Christina who's next to her, and some of Nat's work friends that have also made an appearance. Cecilia's very polite, shooting me a smile that I think she thinks means we've bonded, but at least Nikki even cracks a grin.

"Okay, okay, let's all have a celebratory drink to get this night started!" Cecilia chimes, clapping her hands together, and it's the first idea she's ever had that I'm in complete agreement with.

Cecilia and Nat's co-workers all have a mimosa in hand, but I am quick to shove a penis-shaped shot glass of tequila at Nat, which Nikki also joins in on. As we stand in a circle in the middle of the hotel room that I don't even want to imagine the fee of, I meet Nat's gaze in the middle, and we share a smile as we clink glasses and throw back Jose Cuervo, the first of many.

In fact, it's tequila and tequila alone that gets me through the duck liver dinner, which turns out a lot better than expected, and then the ever-excruciating scrapbooking portion of the night. The number of small dicks I draw on just about anything rivals that of a fifth-grade boy and has me banned from all markers, pencils, or other marking utensils. Luckily for myself, Nat is matching me shot for shot, so it isn't too far into the night until I'm allowed to steal the reigns from Cecilia, who, admittedly I'm softening my position on after she may or may not have made a sucking dick joke.

Jury's still out, but I'm hopeful.

"And another one!" I cheer, tapping my shot glass against Nat's, who's already got a faint flush dusting her cheeks.

Surprisingly, Cecilia joins in, and I fondly look over to see she's holding a tiny penis in hand. A ballet-slipper pink tiny penis.

And then the night brings us to my venue of choice, The Fox's Den, that has all the gyrating and hip swinging and pants ripping that I've promised. Nat's virginal-white sash calls to the dancers like a beacon, and I almost shred my vocal chords cheering when she's dragged on stage and pushed onto a chair, her eyes wide but appreciative of all the things that are currently happening right in front of her face.

Cecilia even gives a whoop-whoop of her own.

It's when I'm casually sipping on a tequila sunrise, a pleasant buzz humming under my skin and a looseness to all my limbs, that I notice that Nat's disappeared for a moment. Within the darkness, interrupted only by the colourful lights that are spitting out from the DJ booth, her blonde head of hair is nowhere to be seen.

I pause mid-conversation with Christina, who I think I'm pretty successfully convincing that I'm just as stable as with her five-year relationship and newly bound engagement, and search the room. Cecilia has let her dark hair loose from the constrains of a high-ponytail and is eyeing the dancer on stage with approving eyes, and the rest of Nat's co-workers are talking amongst themselves. The girl in question is nowhere in sight.

"I'll be right back, gotta go find Nat," I tell Christina and she nods, taking a sip of her drink and turning back to the stage.

As I meander my way out through the door to outside, I'm greeted by the familiar noise of the city's nightlife. It's only a few moments of confused glances thrown here and there before the bouncer points me around the corner. Under the yellow wash of light from a lamp in the alleyway, I find Nat crouched on a step, attention directed to the phone in her hand. Thankfully, she still has her strappy black heels on.

"If that's Mark on the other end, I swear to god Nat, I'm going to football tackle you right in this murder alley."

Her head shoots up, and she grins. "We both know I'm faster than you."

I scoff, dropping down on the stoop next to her, a faint breeze whispering past my bare arms. The oncoming summer is already in the air, though, and the warmth blossoming from the tequila inside is enough to keep me from caring too much.

"How is his phone also not confiscated? When did you even steal that from my purse? I thought I had your phone on lock. I'm calling to yell at Noel for being an awful best man," I say, bumping my shoulder into her's and unsurprised when I see Mark's name written at the top of her phone screen.

Still, it gives me a distraction from the tingle that shoots down my spine at Noel's name in my mouth.

"It's just a simple text!" she defends herself, the slight slur of Cuervo on her tongue. "I'm just curious what they're up to, is all. Is that so bad?"

Her green eyes are so drunkenly hopeful, it's cute.

"Yes," I answer. "It's all the bad. Come on, you'll both be home tonight, stop canoodling. Tonight is not about canoodling, it's about seeing naked people dance for money and getting unquestionably wasted. What is that, did he text back? No, give it to me," I demand, quickly shooting out my hand to steal her phone away, and she's two seconds too late before she realizes it's gone.

Somewhere along the night I'd slowed down in the shots department in the hopes of being at least semi-responsible for Nat, in return for all the nights where the roles were reversed, and I'm actually much quicker than her. She gasps, eyes wide, but then leans her body against mine.

"Is it bad that I'm excited?"

I arch a brow. "For the extra-large pizza each we're both going to stuff our faces with later? Why would it be bad? It's ninety percent of what I'm looking forward to tonight."

She giggles, shaking her head. "No, no, I mean about Mark."

"Listen, if he wants pizza, he's going to have to get his own, I'm not about this sharing business-"

"No, stupid," she cuts me off, snorting. "I mean, we're out tonight, but I'm still excited to go home later because I know he'll be there."

There's a dumb grin plastered across her face, all pearly whites as she stares off down the alleyway, something like a wistful sigh threading through her exhale.

My nose crinkles. "Fine- fine, just rub it in my face how much you hate this bachelorette party that not only I but Cecilia also poured our heart and goddamn souls into, Nat. Just shit all over it."

When I meet her eye, I can't stop myself from bursting out laughing.

"Shut up, you know tonight was perfect. Is perfect. You actually killed it, Vika," she murmurs, resting her head on my shoulder, voice barely breaking above the hum of the city.

"I didn't really do anything- seriously. The cheese platters and the dinner, that was all Cecilia. I will take credit for all the various penis-themed merchandise, oh, and the Cheetos. But that's about it. Cecilia actually killed it," I admit, a tad begrudgingly, staring up into the night sky.

"But the shot glasses were everything."

"Right?" I gasp. "I knew it, thank you. I don't know why Cecilia was so against them, they were basically the highlight of this entire night."

"And you didn't get blackout drunk. Look at you, being able to walk and talk and whatnot," Nat says, linking her arm with mine with a small chuckle.

"I'm a regular Mother Teresa, you know me."

Nat lifts her head and when I turn my gaze to meet hers, they're uncharacteristically soft. She smiles, eyes falling shut. "Thanks, Vika. For tonight, for everything."

"Save the praise for when I get you safely home all in one piece. There's still a good chunk of the night left, and my opportunities to fuck up are endless. Have you met me?" I roll my eyes and disentangle our arms, lifting to my feet.

She beams, accepting my outstretched hand and pulling herself up. "I thought having a total stranger as my maid of honour would be so kitschy, don't you think?"

I laugh and then we're stumbling back through the doors, the bass of a techno song thumping in our ears and a hazy film over our eyes either from the low lighting or the tequila shots. Just as I drop Nat's phone in my purse, zipping it up with a pointed look in the girl's direction, I come to another unfortunate realization that Cecilia is now pulling the disappearing act.

Asking some of the girls if they've seen her prove little results, until Christina, bless her heart, mentions something about Cecilia and the bathroom. Nat moves to get up, but I stop her with a hand and instead shove another shot in her direction, which, as expected, completely distracts her.

My maid of honour duty is in full throttle.

Down the steps with the directions of a scantily dressed bronze and beautiful man, I eventually find the bathroom. The little lady on the sign doesn't lead me astray as I push open the door, the harsh fluorescent lights greeting me along with the very poignant stench of cleaner.

"Cecilia?" I call out, peering into one of the bathroom stalls.

"Here," someone croaks, which seems like Cecilia in context but does not sound like her at all. "I'm in the last stall."

Brows furrowed, I trek over to the other side, thankful that it seems we're the only ones in here. Just as I step in front of the chipping grey metal door, it swings open, and I sigh.

"Well, fuck."