DARREN.

I straightened myself in my seat, my body tensed. Being around Aya, in such close proximity for weeks, I forgot that she was Emaad's sister. This club that we were in was like a slap in the face. She was like them. She was one of them; the famous, the wealthy; the upper-crust of American society.

And, strangely, she didn't resemble any of the upper-crust society gossips and suchlike. Aya was different and she knew it. But her difference made her unique, and it was upsetting that she didn't see it herself.

I mean, granted, Aya was a piece of work and stubborn and pig-headed, but at least she knew what she wanted. She knew who she wanted to be.

She knew herself. I couldn't say the same about the others.

The music stopped. Aya and I glanced at each other. I turned my attention to stage and Emaad wasn't there. Where could he have gone? He noticed us when we walked in.

"Aya!" It was her friend, Dina, who shrieked across the room. Her heels clicked on the polished floor. Aya stood and I followed.

She was barely out of her seat when her friend embraced her into a warm hug. She was tall, plump, wavy-headed brunette with green eyes and brown skin. If I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting her on the day of the impromptu boxing lesson, I would have guessed that Aya and her were sisters. They smiled the same. They radiated the same kind of fearless energy I only ever saw once in a woman (surprised it happened twice now in less than a month).

"Oh, Dina," Aya moaned, a her lips upturned floppily. "I'm so, so proud of you.." They clasped each other's hands as of bound, then Aya moved to cup her cheek, gently caressing it. "You were great, honey."

Dina blushed, a sheepish smile on her face. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "Your brother's here, too, you should"--she saw me, her warmth never faltering–"come over and say hi. You, too, soldier."

"You both go on ahead," I insisted, ignoring the nickname. Aya really had a sway with words. "This is your night. I am simply here to do my job."

"Oh, come on, don't you dance?" Dina asked. Doesn't she have anything better to do than to pester?

"I'm fine," I said.

They didn't go too far when they'd merged into a crowd of people near the back end of the center floor. I was in clear view.

"Aya, I'm glad to see you." Emaad leaned down to hug her, and she accepted.

"Wouldn't miss it for a thing," she told him.

If you would have asked me a month ago why I had taken such a ludicrous job as a bodyguard, I'd tell you I needed the money. That much was still true, but it also brought me immense comfort I wasn't willing to admit to myself at the time.

I did this for her. I did this for me. Janet had been proud when I told her the news, but upset at the same time. She couldn't go with me. Her husband, John, wouldn't allow it.

Seeing Aya so engrossed in her brother's life, full of life, full of love–it made me disheartened. Would I ever get that chance?

Soft jazz music began to play in the background and people dispersed amongst themselves. Aya circled back to the table to grab her clutch and coat. "Where are you going?" I stood, pushing in my chair.

"Outside," she said, "there's a boat."

As we walked with the rest of the crowd, I remained tense as ever. No matter how pretty, how–underneath her grandeur of grumpiness–ill-spirited Aya was to me, at least it had been to me and not someone else. I would manage her just fine, I realized. I held the door for her.

"Oh, look!" she fawned, her eyes sparkling. "Darren,  look!"

And sure enough, in the back of the club was a landing dock and a boat attached to it, ready to set sail. "You are not going that boat," I ordered dryly. It reminded me of the Titanic. I hated that stupid boat.

I hated all boats, really. Same reason as to why I hated top-down convertibles: the wind got in your face, lashing your skin like tiny little blades. And I, for one, did not want to stimulate death. Far from it, actually.

Aya turned to me with that dreaded droop I loathed; her lips pout and down-turned, eyes dark. Her demeanor changed within an instant. And she said, without much a second thought, "why?"

"Aya," I said. My voice dropped. She was by the dock, and I took strides to come to her, the wind viciously hacking and lashing my face. Ugh. "I can't lose you."

"Oh, I didn't know you were much of a romantic, Darren," she taunted, shielding her face with her gloved hand. "You can come with." did she think I wasn't serious?

I stopped short when another man approached her. I stilled, being forced to watch.

The wind howled, loud enough that I couldn't hear what they were saying. Aya smiled, which meant trouble. She smiled when she got her way, and so far, she didn't get by me. I never made her smile.

And I liked it that way. Because if she didn't smile, nobody got hurt.

She didn't get hurt–and potentially do something brainless.

Aya looked at me, her cheeks round and full, her smile brighter than Venus. But I saw him go behind her, and pick from her pocket.

"Get your hands off of her." I forcefully grabbed his shoulder, and she turned around, her eyes wide after noticing what was happening. No, it was clearer now.

My word.

No–he was trying to take a picture of her... of her.

The wind. Fuck.

"I was trying to put on her coat," he reasoned, jaw tensed. He swung a lousy punch, but because Aya was still near, it nearly hit her. She ducked.

"Darren, stop," she pleaded.

I squared him up, pulling him by his collar. His tie fell to the floor.

"Back. off," I grit through my teeth. "I hate repeating myself."

That's when he punched me, albeit, not hard enough to cause any real bruising, and I shoved him into the body of water.

He took me with him.

AYA

"Oh my God!" I screeched, a huge splash of water spraying all over me because... because...

Wait, where the hell was the captain? And where was Darren?

Stay out of trouble, my ass.

"Aya!" Dina came by me, pulling me away off the landing dock the three of us had been standing on near the ship.

I looked around frantically, my head spinning with a million different scenarios Darren could've been in right now. One minute, he was storming near, the next he was punching the captain of the boat.

Crazy man.

My chest tightened, my stomach lurched. "Whe-"

I clawed at Dina's grasp on my shoulders, her pull was suffocating. I needed to know–

Another splash.

A very loud, squashing, kind of slash it didn't like one at all.

The crowd gasped behind me and I snag free from Dina's side, running near the edge of the landing dock, my arms protectively wrapped against my body with my coat.

The captain pulled out first, his hand grasping the ledge of the dock with his right hand, pulling himself up. He was dripping wet. Completely soaked from head to toe. And the side of his face was nicked, his eye showing a red-purple blooming scar lashed on his left side near his eye. He looked around, mouth open wide and gasping for air.

His eyes landed on me, and he hoisted himself up as if he was some sea creature coming to shore, slithering by me.

I backed away, snorting. He resembled that of a slimy, fat, green frog they'd make us dissect in science class. With his dimwitted and clueless blue eyes and saggy, mopey blond hair. The lights in the back were lit up brightly. I could see everything. From his wrinkles on his clothes and how his wet uniform clung to his body thinly, turning translucent. His hand held his captain's hat, and he threw across the landing dock.

He was about to lunge at me when security got a hold of him and dragged him out of the venue entirely. The rest of the boat staff declared that they wouldn't be accepting passengers. Awe, man.

Emerging from the water after moments of no sign or sight of him, out came another hand, hoisting himself up with one arm. I erased the smile from my face immediately. I managed to get one last chortle before clearing my throat. "Are you hurt?" I asked, stabilizing my voice, chin held up.

Darren pulled himself out of the body of water, breathing heavy, hastily removing his bow tie. His face was red and hot even though he came out of water. He was most definitely bothered.

He looked at me sideways.

I closed my mouth, catching my breath. "It's impolite to stare," Dina cut in, nudging me on the shoulder with a slight tap. Her hand rested on her collarbone. I stared, longer than I had meant to. And, Darren's eyes softened. He still was plenty peeved, and I was sure especially with me, but he..

Two other guests stood by either side of him and hoisted him up, but he flailed and flung his arms, grunting. Panting. Chest heaving. He unbuttoned half of his dress shirt, his suit's coat over his shoulder haphazardly.

His eyes burned into mine, and slowly, he shook his head.

I stared, frozen.

"What the hell was that?" Emaad asked once everyone went back inside, leaving me and him all alone. I shrunk.

"Emaad, stop," I said feebly, looking down at my shoes.

"You are going to have to apologize to him," he said without an ounce of empathy. Why did he assume the worst? I hadn't throttled the captain; nor did I fall into the water. If anything, Darren saved me." I couldn't believe what I was saying. I was defending someone that didn't couldn't even bother to speak to me, let alone look at me.

"Not him," Emaad bit in, "the captain."

What the fuck? I wasn't going to apologize to the captain who tried to sneak an unsolicited picture of me! "Blame," I started, my volume tuning up, hands up in the air, "the fucking wind! You try wearing a dress and walking in heels for once in your life, Emaad!" I bunched up the sides of my dress. "It's not my fault."

"Your bodyguard is waiting inside," Emaad defaulted, his hands resting clasped above his naval. He looked out to shore.

"I don't care." I needed to make sure he was alright. It took everything in me to pretend that I didn't. Because unlike Emaad, I couldn't just leave when things turned to shit. I was a fighter.

"Then what do you care about?"

I turned to him, tears started to bubble in my eyes just the slightest. "Emaad..." I cared about him, our family. The real question he should've asked was if I cared about myself. That I  could've answered in a heartbeat.

"You should leave."

I was transported to that night he told me I couldn't go on tour with him. How confident he was in choosing for me. How eerily relived he was about it, wight his smug smile and all. He thought he knew me, but he didn't know me aside from being his first fan. His encourager. The first to believe he could be anything.

Well, realistically, Papa was the first in that regard.

"You're making a big mistake," I warned him, about to reach for him before he put his hand up.

"This is my break we've all been waiting for," Emaad squeezed in, his face contoured into distaste. "Me and Dina–"

He stopped, I waited.

"We were fucking phenomenal on screen. They're gonna love us, don't you get it? I'm doing this all for you, for us. But since you can't behave, you're lucky I'm letting you  leave with a warning."

I had the urge to throw something at him. He should've been dropped as a baby. "You're not as charming as you lead on, you know," I said, folding my arms and squinting from the increase in the howls of the wind. "But you're a man, what'd you know about being in my shoes? You have everything while people–women–like Dina and me pretend we have it all. I hate dressing up for the public."

"Enough, Aya. enough with this women"--he did a lousy hand gesture–"'women' crap. It doesn't matter for people... people like us. Until I'm not recognized, none of us are."

I started to walk away, stomping in every step I took, wiping the tears away. That was a complete slap in the face. I wasn't allowed to be mad at him. Just because Emaad was the Prince of Rock N' Roll, he could hide behind his music, and cave away in his studio for all eternity, what he looked like–what he resembled, represented to the masses–didn't matter because they didn't care about him.

Once the movies came out... it was out of anyone's control.

I opened the car and sat in my seat, my hands covering my mouth as I sobbed.

Someone tapped on my window. My eyes were too blurry to register who it was before I rolled them down.

Darren knelt down, his elbows resting on the perimeters of the window. He didn't say a word before climbing into the driver's side.

He started to drive.

"I'm sorry," I said through choked sobs, gasping to breath. The windows were rolled up.

"Why?" he asked softly, both hands on the steering wheel.

My lips quivered. He did even look at me, so much a glance. I wiped my tear-stained face with my gloves. Thank god. I searched his face as if he had some kind of answer, but nothing came of it.

Not a smart-mouthed quip, not a cocked eyebrow, not his detestable grin I always hated.

His hands, however, tightened around the wheel.

"I..."

I wanted to go on that cursed boat the moment I laid my eyes on her. I wanted to go, he knew it, and I still managed to fuck things up.

I always did.

"Darren, I'm sorry," I said, mustering up a full sentence. "Please, stop the car at the shoulder."

"Do you want us to crash?" He asked, eying me sideways. His voice was cold and scathing and hot and cruel. I couldn't believe him.

"No." I couldn't fathom myself ever saying no and here I was. I'd always been to do things my way, consequences be damned, but this was different.

He was different. And he made me question everything I ever known to be true–both about myself and the world.

Truthfully, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want to crash (some ill part of me did), I loved my car too much to have it be destroyed.

That, and if I was going to die, it would be of old age–and with grace—something Darren clearly lacked semblance of.

"Then stop talking. Let me drive this bloody car in peace."

His eye twitched strangely, and he cleared his throat.

I listened to him for the first time in my life. And I was glad that I did.