I had to distract myself from all the tension. I needed to release myself from my parents' lies and schemes. Otherwise, I'd explode.

We had a beautiful night playing strip poker till dawn. Nathan was totally obsessing the thought of me losing, and him enjoying the fun of watching me taking off my clothes; piece by piece.

It was all fun and games until he grew tired and felt the need for quiet slumber. The game was over and he climbed upstairs. As for me, strip poker wasn't enough to lick my wounds. My body craved for something stronger to make me forget every piece of lie encrypted in my brain.

I sneaked out of the apartment and drove my car without a destination in mind. What I needed was alone time, away from everybody.
Next thing I know, I hovered near some cheap club.

Immensely, I drank and partied like there was no tomorrow. The disco lights were blinding; shining in multicolors and pointing at different directions. Debauchery was the golden rule, and everybody was bound to obey. I, too, was no exemption. Engulfed by its magnetizing world, it lured me in like a siren. The feeling was ethereal, unlike any other. The people were loud and reckless, desperately escaping from their pathetic lives; finding some kind of purpose.

"Let's not get way too ahead of ourselves. You should be sleeping, Avery," he said, with his eyes shut and barely awake. His head was pinned down against the pillow whilst his hand ran along with the comfy sheets; smoothly making its way to mine.

"Where are you, Avery?" He rubbed his eyes and surveyed the room.

"Avery!" Nate screamed. The adrenaline flooded his system in a heartbeat as he double checked all the rooms yet still found no sign of me. Putting on some clothes, he took his car keys and opened the door.

"What's with all the yelling, Nate? It's like three a.m in the morning," I said, barely standing on wobbly legs while holding a bottle of vodka. My hair was a mess and my makeup smeared all over my face. My breath smelled like I drank vodka as a replacement for water.

"I've been looking all over for you!"

"Sorry, I got a little something for us to share. But it seems like I drank too much before I even got here. It's half-empty now," I laughed, losing my balance. I raised the bottle proudly like an all-day drunkard.

"You're drunk. Let me put you to bed. I got you." He grunted as he carried me. On the way upstairs, he hummed my favorite songs to put me asleep like singing a lullaby to a baby.

Just when he was about to put me to bed, I asked, "Why do you care so much?"

Nate scoffed and bit his lip, hesitating to continue the conversation. "Remember how we first met? You and your friends went to Rutt Minnie's to get something to drink. I came up to your table to get your order but one of your friends insisted that I should call a different waiter because she didn't think I match her 'impeccable taste'. Well, you looked me in the eye and made up some story claiming we had the most amazing time skinny dipping on the beach of San Diego and made love under the starry night after jamming to acoustic songs by the bonfire."

"Well, that bitch was being really rude to you. They all were. Looking down at you for cleaning up tables so you can go to the same school we all go to is so not cool," I said.

"Right. But despite you being one of the richest families in the city, you defended me like I was no stranger, you treated me like I was your friend."

"At that moment, I knew you were different. You were special," he added.

"Stop with the dramatics. I can be a bitch too. I just didn't think you deserved it," I replied.

Having had too much to drink, I fell asleep like a baby.

In the morning, I rushed to the mansion bearing gifts: an impulsive personality and great anger magnified by the effects of hangover.

The retinue skipped a beat as they saw me seconds away from imploding. They opened the door frightened like they had seen a ghost, stuttering and moving uneasily.

As soon as I passed through the door, my mother was indulging  in the salon room. She relaxed in prime comfort as the manicurists and masseuses passionately brought heaven upon her fine skin.

"What brings you here, darling?" my mother asked, lying down on a chair with cucumbers covering both her eyes and a facial mask plastered on her face.

"Cut the crap, mom. I know everything. From Professor Brawston's expulsion scare up to your choice of a so-called restaurant you knew I would never survive to work at. I'm now turning twenty-one, and I believe I am old enough to make my own choices. If marrying my childhood friend is what it's going to take in exchange for my freedom, then I submit," I answered.

Having heeded my desperate call, she removed the cucumbers off her eyes and sat down in proper posture. "So Eric has spilled the beans, huh? Very well, then. No more looking for you. No more telling you what to do. No more putting our noses in your business. Just marry Eric Greddon."

I nodded, turned around, and walked outside the door. I kept my head down in shame. My anger got the best of me, and I was too ashamed of myself to admit that not a second has passed but I have already loathed myself for bringing this all to me.

"Marriage? That's a lifetime commitment. I'm not even in love with Eric anymore. I'm in love with —" I stopped before I had the chance to utter his name. I contemplated at the back of my mind while waiting for Eric to pick up the phone.

"I got your mother's call. What's so urgent?" He arrived at the mansion as fast as he could, gasping for air to breathe as his sweat trickled down the corners of his face; whilst he bent over and held his knee caps for support.

As he calmed himself, I broke the news and shouted, "Let's get married."

Eric was shocked by what he had heard. Before he could open his mouth to stir up questions, I interrupted him. "He cheated on me. I caught him with a few hookers. Should've known."

"Well, if it makes you less miserable, Daphne broke up with me too. She couldn't handle all the drama," Eric replied.

We talked and admitted we had no feelings for one another anymore. Both of us have moved on and had separate lives before it all boiled down to this.

Both of us conceded and considered this marriage as strictly business.

However, in the eyes of his parents and mine, we play the part as a loving husband and wife. We agreed that on our own terms, and on the pact we had just made, we will both get our hearts' desires. And by doing this, we must see to it that we are the talk of the town.

The one true pair.
The wedding of the century.

Paparazzi, radio broadcasts, and national news will have focused on us and only us, until after our marriage will have served its purpose to our parents.

After my talk with Eric, I went to my favorite coffee shop to indulge myself into the comforts of the sweet aroma of cappuccino, a good book to read, and my kind of modern sanctuary where people mind their own business and tolerate no room for judgment against people who still write on their journals.

I took out a pen from my bag and started writing. "Dear Diary, I hired a bunch of prostitutes to go to my apartment to intentionally plant something dirty on Nathan." The guilt rose quickly, and I believed it was the heavy, disappointing feeling that made it harder to breathe. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't finish writing the sentence without thinking about what kind of horrible person I was.

Yesterday, before going home to my apartment, I paid someone to convey to the girls every single instruction. They must see to it that documentation will be delivered to me immediately. It must look like he hired them in his own free will, and not in any way staged. I needed proof of my diabolical scheme to protect him in my own twisted ways.

I'm the failure. I'm the train-wreck. I'm the washed-up spoiled brat who's done nothing but disappoint everyone who comes into my life.

Somehow I find relief in the idea of people expecting the worst in me. In that way, I can let go of the responsibility to always be there for them, to console them in their darkest times, and to be everything they expect me to be. Because the truth is, I don't think I even know how to.

Love has been nothing but a nuisance to me lately; a provoking tangle towards my ideal to start anew. No wonder people do lots of different things when they come across "love" — avoid, cheat, pretend, fail, take advantage of.

But no, not for me. I don't want to do the same thing other people do. So as for me, I fight. I face it upfront, submerge myself into its existence that's prevailing in my heart; until I get so full of it, that I eventually feel nothing anymore. I just get so fond of it.

I used up all its ingredients, examined its abilities, and studied its composition — the magic, the surprises, the joy, the fights, and everything good and bad that comes along with it.

And I will begin to realize that it's not there anymore. The thing that makes it so special just loses its glow. The love that they call beautiful simply vanishes and leaves the ugly parts behind for people to take in.

And then I will have outdone it. Outgrown. Outsmarted.

I will have succeeded.

And I'll be able to start again.