New York City was supposedly filled with opportunity and riches right in capable reach, at least to anybody that had never visited. Those that had such fortune to relocate were met with great disappointment in the abundant skyscrapers that lost their flair as soon as the rest were discovered almost directly behind it. The apartments were painfully cramped and expensive, the only affordable food could double as animal feed. New York City was a mirage of an oasis in the middle of the barren desert.

All in all, I would never have been caught dead with a place in the city. It was too much for me.

The house near the bay that I had decided to rent out for the summer and possibly a longer stretch of time was deathly cheap, just under one hundred per month. Before I'd seen the other homes squeezed around me, I had thought it was expensive but worth it. I'd later learned that it was a forgotten cabin for one of the groundskeepers until an unfortunate stroke brought him to an untimely end. The interior hadn't been touched by human hands only until recently, when a team was hired to renovate under minimum wage.

In all, I had a grand total of five rooms and a faded awning at the back that brought shade as the day came to a close. It was furnished already with soft cushions and creaky wooden chairs on the front porch that complimented the peeling white paint on the wood. The view was breathtaking; it faced the bay, and at night you could see the extravagant houses of the richest of the rich, flashing across the water light up and cast bright shadows over darkness. Everything felt like home away from home. It truly was a steal in my eyes.

The building to my left was at least five times the size of mine. It looked more like an old fancy home from the medieval ages than it did an occupied settlement. The vines stretched over the cracked cream walls, all the windows were hidden from showing the inside with dark curtains, forbidden from opening because of the bars bolted over them in a cross formation. I could only see a few towers over the foliage growing high above my own roof, but I was glad I lived in the cabin than the rickety old castle.

However, the quite literal palace to my right was a different page in another story. It oozed sophistication and riches, from the shining fountains I could hear all day, to the marble pillars on the immaculate patio surrounded by foliage that must've been imported. The windows were also covered with curtains from the inside, but they glittered like emeralds and always appeared to be in motion. The circular pool in the front garden was surrounded by trimmed greens and polished tables with gorgeous chairs that must've cost more than half the appliances in my home. There was a garage on the far end of the property that must have structure at least ten cars, maybe even eleven. It was a beautiful house, at least fifteen times the size of mine. There was nothing I wanted more than to see the owner and congratulate them on finding such a treasure.

I'd never seen him for the first week or two of making daily rounds. The closest tower had a perfect view of my porch, which was where I spent most of my time, watching the cars pass and unload groups of people on the beach. Ever present was the feeling that I was being watched, and whenever I would snap to the right in an attempt to prove my suspicion correct, the curtains would flutter shut. Because of it, I never truly got anything done. I only tricked myself into believing I did. If I had known that would be the beginning, I would've written down what I caught a glimpse of through the glass when he hadn't moved away quick enough. I couldn't remember his face anymore; the newspapers had chosen awful photos from years prior to fit their headlines. They never could capture the liveliness in his eyes or the smile reserved for few.

I never even knew his name until I went to visit my cousin, which was where the story really began. He lived across the water, a few degrees off from being perfectly aligned when walking out the back door. At night, the red light on their boat tied to the dock blinked incessantly, tauntingly from the side of people who were born into grand wealth and never had to work a day in their life.

But anyways, I'd hoped to get some work done; any at all, even a page a day would've been enough for me. At least something would have been getting done, better than the looming threat of unfinished work like storm clouds following everywhere I seemed to travel. It constantly snapped at my heels every time I left the house, or fell into bed before the sun set and the stars sparked to life in the darkness above.

They'd followed me like a pack of starved wolves across the bay, the trail around the beach I dozed over in a cheap car from back home. It was a parting gift, the best my mother could afford. A higher education had been the leech in the back account, sucking the money out of every fund we put anything towards. The one thing the remaining cash was spent on was a simple car, an old model, one of the ones that ran funny and took a few minutes to start, one with dents in it already and a horn that sounded like an animal moments away from croaking. The dull grey reminded me of rain clouds. The inferiority of passing other vehicles symbolizing more wealth and prestige was suffocating.

But when I parked along the curbside of my cousin's mansion with the exterior styled after the famed Parthenon, the embarrassment had been extinguished like a cigarette in an ashtray. Even among all the cars gleaming in the sunlight bathing the driveway in dull but beautiful colors, the sense of riches beyond dreams was in no bit as intimidating as others. At first glance, I fell in love with the sleek blue model with silver decals and smooth leather seats closest to the garage.

The front door must've cost more than a years worth of my rent. The knocker bolted to the door shined with overwhelming pride, gold handle carved intricately with a professional steady hand, the letters 'R' and 'B' etched into the metal so they fit together seamlessly in a bronze oval.

My cousin wasn't the one to answer, nor any of their staff that catered to their every need on high pay, no, of course not. It was Ryan, the man he'd deemed his business partner and close friend, but everybody that knew of either of their names knew the truth. Nobody dared to challenge the relationship, lest they wind up dead soon after word from their lips made its way around like standard procedure. My cousin had connections with a man downtown.

The name "Ryan" never really struck a chord within me that appointed it the feeling of utter terror until fairly recently; it was the name of my first dog, because my younger sibling got to name it, and it was also the name of the neighbor across the street at home. There was no direct relation between the two, but we all found it to be quite humorous. It was never close a fear-instilling name until I met Ryan years back. We were at a party to celebrate my cousin's first million dollars made, I'd attended only for the food because I could never have cared less about how selfish he was being, hosting a party for something so crude and material as money. I had eaten all the tiny sandwiches when I ran into my cousin with Ryan towering behind him. It was merely a few inch difference between us, but there was an unspoken vibe from him that I could never truly put into words. It wasn't a good one.

He used to be famous in a sport; I never remembered what for, because following athletics was never something that'd hooked my attention. Those glory days were behind him though, and he lived with my cousin off the smart investments he'd made in various companies. All in all, his selfishness seemed to be the trait that scared me the most.

Since I'd last seen him years ago, he'd been lifting weights, apparently. The fear in my chest doubled. His shoulders and broadened, jawline sharper than I could recall. He emitted the sense of intense power and rage trapped in a bottle with a plastic cap. "Nice to see you again, John. It's been a while."

I nodded and swallowed the part of my thoughts that shoved at my tongue, begging to be let out and talk me into retreating home and never returning as long as I lived. "The pleasure is all mine, Ryan."

After painfully awkward silence, he stepped aside and gestured inward. He closed the door behind me and led the way through the grand rooms that were too large and gorgeous to comprehend upon first seeing them. I remember in explicit detail the structure of everything I walked through and the crystal chandeliers dangling from high ceilings on golden chains, but that was the only thing I could genuinely describe from their home. They were the least interesting thing in every room, the least immaculate design out of all their purposeless possessions.

"What've you been up to lately? I haven't heard much about you since about a month ago, when we received news from your mother to make you feel comfortable in New York City." Ryan paused in the middle of a glimmering ballroom and swiveled around on the heels of his shoes. "You are comfortable here, aren't you? I wouldn't want to strip you of that luxury."

At times, it was necessary to be dishonest. Whenever that time arose, the honesty was locked inside in my own thoughts. "Very much; I appreciate the concern."

His lips were pursed when he turned around, grasping on to a set of silver handles on doors that stretched to the ceiling. When he pulled them open, a fresh summer breeze brought me back to my senses, drifting through eight ceiling-to-floor open windows arranged in a circle. Silk curtains the color of the sky danced with each gust and settled somewhere new in the absence of one.

On the couch facing away from the entrance was my cousin. I could only see his hands talking animatedly with his voice, but it was easy to tell it was him. He always flashed three devastatingly expensive rings on the right hand, and a fourth on the ring finger of his left hand. That wasn't the telltale factor, though it easily could've been.

There was something about Brendon's voice, something special, pure gold. Every sentence sounded like honey dripping into a cup of warm tea, every syllable coated in the crispness in the air after the clouds grace the land with snow. There was a sense of confidence and warmth that lingered in the air whenever he spoke, reassurance that he was hanging onto every word shared in the intimacy of a mere conversation with him. He made you feel a sense of importance just by humming a short and simple agreement.

"John," his right hand traced the back of the couch, and slowly he peeked over the material with a trademark sly grin, "do tell — do they miss me in Los Angeles?"

"Why of course," I said, and his eyes lit up, "at least thirty-seven people are just dying to hear from you. They all say the city hasn't been the same since you left — the flowers have all wilted in their pots, there's simply no light left. I could hear them all the way in Oregon, crying, 'Brendon, come home!'"

Brendon smiled, reaching out for me to grab my hand and squeeze. "Oh, I'm paralyzed with happiness!" He pulled on my arm abruptly and I tumbled over the furniture and onto the rug, dangerously close to the glass coffee table holding the weight of crystal garnishes that sparkled gently in the sunlight, even less so as Ryan stormed around the room and slammed all the windows shut. The breeze fell, as did the curtains to the floor.

There was another person on the end of the couch. She was absolutely beautiful; her hair was a stunning white on the borderline of frigid silver, which must've been a dyed shade because it seemed too perfect to be real. Her face was flawlessly balanced, bright eyes and soft pink lips, and a sharp jawline. She was undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous people I had ever seen. There wasn't a ring on the ring finger of her left hand.

Brendon must've noticed my staring. He sat up and took a series of glances between us. She seemed unbothered and uninterested. "John, this is my friend, Hayley. She's a very famous swimmer."

I nodded and held out my hand for Hayley, but she kicked out her legs to my right and stood without my help, stretching to the sky, soft white dress flowing when she walked. "I've been on that couch for as long as I can remember," she scoffed, "what a tragedy, really, that he arrives and I suddenly cannot bear to lounge around for another second."

I'd quickly recognized her as Hayley Williams after observing her for a minute. She was in fact a professional swimmer, a quick and renowned one at that. I had seen her on the cover of Vogue in Oregon once or twice when I would go shopping and happen to spare a cheap glance at the magazine rack. Whenever the occasion came about, I ended up buying an issue, just to read about her most recent successes. The latest was her overwhelming wealth and pricey house a few miles away from where I stood beside her. "It's a pleasure," I said, "really."

"Oh, I'm sure it is, John." She spun around, flashing a crude smile and the gleam in her eyes that contradicted the upset in her tone.

Ryan brushed my shoulder with his elbow, shoving a glass of alcohol into my hands. There wasn't much, but it still threatened to spill over on the rug it would undoubtedly stain. "Why don't you stay for dinner. Miss Williams was planning on doing so, and three is an awful odd number."

Brendon had invited me over for dinner. I assumed the purpose of my visit wasn't delivered to Ryan. "That sounds wonderful, thank you."

꧁꧂

"John," Brendon smirked from across the table, waving his fork in the cool air for my attention, "I heard you were engaged to a sweet girl on the west coast. How is she?"

I stared at him between the glass vase spilling over with fresh flowers from their garden over the edge of the balcony. They'd been hand-picked an hour or two earlier on special order. Hayley resented them; she glowered at each petal when they were set in front of her, and within minutes her nose was red and her handkerchief had made seven separate appearances.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I am not engaged. I'm too poor. I dated for quite a stretch of time, but I never bought a ring, or even thought about stepping foot in a jewelers, for that matter. I couldn't even afford to steal a peek at them." It didn't sound like the truth, but it was. I was with a girl I'd met through my mother's friends, and after about a year, she wanted to get married in the spur of the moment because she couldn't take another minute without a ring on her finger. After she had let her emotions out like water from a collapsing dam, I left her. Later that week, I upped and went to Oregon for college, and I hadn't heard of her since.

He frowned and returned to swirling food on his plate like it was a painting. "Oh, that's a shame. You're twenty nine and such a sweetheart, I just can't seem to understand why you wouldn't have been married by now, or at least have found somebody."

Brendon never quite understood riches were the only thing women wanted, and that it was the one thing I was severely short on. Maybe it was because that was all he searched for too. Without money, you were nobody, and that was the one thing he couldn't stand. And that was the honest truth.

"Maybe someday." I sighed and tried to ignore the quick glance and unspoken words Brendon and Hayley shared. She was obviously object to the idea, as was I. However, I had just met her a few short hours prior.

Ryan cleared his throat and gestured with a butter knife between Hayley and a little past my general direction. He'd mixed many drinks for himself in another room when he thought he could play it off as a quick bathroom run. "Miss Williams is a single woman, John. How'd you like to date a swimmer? She owns two houses, and both are quite barren with only her to occupy them. She also owns a swimming pool."

"No, thank you," she interrupted with heavy pride, "not that I don't find him attractive, but I am simply not searching for a relationship at this moment. I can't be bothered to waste my time on a man that only wants me for my fame and fortune — not that John ever would, I mean." She shot a suspicious glare towards me.

In no way would I dare to even attempt to exploit her out of pure fear for how a woman like her would enact revenge, but there was another level of depth as to why she remained uninterested in everyone, and her dull response to the idea of a life with me seemed to be a mere facade for the suggestion that had been posed. "I'm not looking to date either, at the moment," in a glimpse returned to Hayley that only lasted a split second, she smiled gratefully, "and besides, my home isn't nearly big enough to provide the luxury Miss Williams surely deserves. I'd hate to take advantage of her."

She clutched the thin necklace in her fist, staring down at her plate. "You're too kind, I'm sure it's cozy and just perfect. What I wouldn't give to live like that again..."

There was a drastic difference between us all. I'd only realized it when I tore my attention away from the lace designs on Hayley's dress sleeves and directed it back to the sight in front of me. Brendon's house was enormous, far too big for just two people to live in. They could've rented rooms like an upscale hotel instead of selfishly hide every aspect to themselves. Half the building didn't seem to have a purpose, only to make the outside seem twice as grand and large, only to boast to those around of their wealth. As if a passerby from out of state would care.

That life simply wasn't for me, maybe it wasn't for Hayley either. She'd built a platform for herself out of whatever she had, so said the magazine interviews she took part in. She had cleared her plate of what had been set before her, whereas the other two at the table had picked out half the dish and abandoned the rest.

"Your life is absolutely adorable, John," Brendon held up a glass filled just under halfway with bubbling champagne like he was about to declare a toast, "I just love it, I love it so much. It reminds me of when I was younger and I'd stay over at your home for a night or two."

"You live just across the bay, John? Have you met the neighbors yet? Surely you must have." Hayley raised an eyebrow at me.

I shook my head. "Not yet. I don't know anyone in the area besides you three."

"Only us three?"

"Only you three, I swear. I don't get out of my home often."

She frowned, as if she couldn't believe a word I was telling her, even though it was the truth. "Well, surely you must know Weekes."

Brendon's attention snapped to our conversation immediately. His gaze switched between us like he was trying to search for the name to grasp on to again, as if he were trying to catch a glimpse of a hummingbird zipping by. "Weekes?" He asked softly, waiting, expecting her to add on to why I must know of him. I wasn't sure why, though. The two of us hadn't talked in years, and it'd take days to fully catch the other up to date with all the events that'd taken place in our lives, let alone to begin gossiping about the people next door. If his want to hear more about my neighbor was any indication, Weekes would play quite a large part in the timeline of my cousin's life.

Then the phone rang from inside, and the faint sparkle in his eyes dissipated along with his curious expression, twisting into cruel realization and shock. Hayley's hands fell to her lap, and her eyes darted nervously around the table like a laser beam.

It rang twice more, and Ryan stood abruptly with the aching screech of his chair, excused himself, and rushed inside. Brendon had his back to the telephone, but Hayley and I both watched as he picked it up and left with it out of sight.

Nobody was sure of what to do. The candles flickered out as near-silent murmurs turned for the worst into loud incoherent arguments with whoever was on the other end.

"I just find it funny that—" Brendon was cut off by Ryan for a disheartening ten seconds of raised tones, "—actually, please excuse me for a just moment. I'm awfully sorry, I'd hate to ruin dinner." He stiffly wadded up his napkin into a ball and shot it at the tablecloth before smoothing his shirt and storming inside quickly.

I turned to Hayley in hopes of striking up a conversation to fill the awkward silence that was bound to make an unwanted appearance. She was leaning in and out of various directions in her chair, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of where Brendon was headed. "So, er, Weekes, you said? I've never heard from him before—"

"Shut up, John, don't talk right now," she hissed and pressed a finger to her lips; the rich color of her nails matched the deep wine in her glass, "haven't you heard? Who am I kidding, you must've, he's your cousin for Christ's sake."

I hadn't heard from Brendon in years before I realized I was moving across the bay from him. I'd recognized the area from the Christmas cards he would send every other year, and I went out of my way to write to him before leaving Oregon because my mother insisted upon it. "No, I haven't. We haven't spoken in quite some time. I've been considering this as sort of a reunion."

"Ryan's mistress is on the line," she muttered lowly, as if she were afraid someone would eavesdrop, "you'd think she'd have the decency not to call during dinner. It's disrespectful, if you ask for my opinion. I would never even dare to."

I watched them holler at each other for a minute after Ryan hung up the phone, surrounded with riches and shiny objects that were so breakable, dressed in expensive fabrics designed by equally pricey people.

What a life it must've been to have it all, and still find a selfishly greedy way to be unhappy.

꧁꧂

I had insisted on returning home shortly after the call ended, as did Hayley, even though Brendon had insisted we stay a little longer. The tension in the air had cut the previous lightheartedness of the conversations like a knife through warm butter, and neither of us wanted to stay to witness the beginning of a nasty fight, approaching like a thunderstorm over the horizon. After my cousin succeeded in convincing us to stay for dessert, the phone had gone off again, and it was the deciding factor for the night to end. On my way home, I watched the porch lights dim, and separate rooms on opposite ends of the property become occupied for the night with a single sad light.

I always had to duck while walking up the porch steps to avoid a bruise in the middle of my forehead. It happened when I'd moved in for the first time. But a bright flash caught my eye before I set foot on the stairs. A light in one of the rooms next door had flickered to life.

In the window stood the neighbor I hadn't met yet, the one that had torn my cousin's attention away from the alluring centerpiece on the table as if it had never existed to begin with. The large gold 'W' engraved on the front gates suddenly made sense, though I wasn't too sure what the 'D' in front of it symbolized in particular. It was definitely the initial of his first name, but that could've been anything. Dustin, Darren, Daniel, the list could go on for eternity.

I watched him for a minute. He was staring at something across the water. Hands in his pockets, he stood unmoving for a few minutes, watching, waiting for anything, until the lights dimmed and he tucked his chin to his chest and turned away.

I wasn't sure what he was looking at, though. The only thing I could see out in the dark was the soft red light on the boat tied to Brendon's dock, and the pitch black water of the bay.

[I KNOW ITS ONLY BEEN LIKE FOUR DAYS ITS FINE.

Also panics new album had better be damn good. I haven't really listened to them in months. And idk how I feel about a female bassist like yeah women need to be appreciated in the music industry but I just. It doesn't seem right to me and I know it's not my place but I really am not too much of a fan of the idea (it's cool but how're the vocals live. Is her voice low enough. Does she not at all??? Educate me). If they come to SoCal I don't think I would go.
But she's also like. 12/10 pretty. Like bringin tears to my eyes pretty. So I might]