Luke Mezaretti had been suffering from more than a hangover when he'd lumbered from the woods behind my house in his boxer briefs.

He held the weight of the world on those broad, bronze shoulders of his and I'd had no idea. None what so ever. All this time I'd been focusing on his tattoos and muscles, slim-fitting jeans, pert lips, gorgeous hair and constant smirk, and he'd been trying to prevent the apocalypse.

Geez, Addie. Way to judge someone wrong. Beef cakes suffered, and sometimes they were the only things standing between us and annihilation.

As Luke explained the curse, I realized how much his life had sucked. To live as a bad boy, condemned to endless parties, panties, jello shots, and dude bros, all in order of keeping a demon from destroying the world. And no one knew.

All the hours he worked spent hung over and hot, uncomfortable and sweaty, indulging in things he loathed, and not an ounce of recognition. No placard or certificate. No award or medal. Just a thankless, endless cycle, more depressing than an office job but without a tangible exit plan. For if Luke quit his job, we all had no choice but to quit our lives.

Sure as hell wasn't expecting this when I stumbled into the portal. But what's worst about all this is my impending involvement, because Luke's slippery bathroom tile had made me part of it.

I shudder thinking about what this means for me. Will I end up being a bad boy too? How would I deal with constant smirking, let alone peeing standing up? Maybe I'll live out another trope...bad girl, which, considering the alternative, might not be so bad. Bad girls had impossibly long legs, tiny waists, enormous chests, and the ability to kick a boy's ass for ogling them wrong.

As I'm pondering my future part in all of this, someone else moves out from the shadows. "She knows?"

Me, the obvious she in question - again.

The new arrival steps into view wearing the same robes as Other Luke, though they're not as tall, and are leaner. Much to my chagrin, it can't be a third Luke. So a menage a toi is out of the question.

Other Luke nods. "We've told her all we should." He gazes up at the figure and smiles. "You can take it from here, I warrant?"

The guest shakes their head. Other Luke smiles. "Good. We don't have much time left."

When the guest has Other Luke's approval, they set their sights on me. Involuntarily, I gulp, which is better than the alternative - letting my bowels loose and getting shit and piss all over their nice portal floor.

The guest follows in Other Luke's steps, reaching up to lower their hood. Before they do, I catch a glimmer of familiar azure. At this, dread settles in my stomach.

As their hood's lowered, showing features that I've seen before—reflected in mirrors, windows, etc—that dread multiples a thousand-fold.

How is this possible? Why is this happening? There're a ton of questions I want to voice but can't. Not when I'm staring at an older version of myself.

Other me or she, or, I—don't ask, this whole situation just got a helluva lot weirder—puts a hand, my hand, over my own. Her skin's a little darker than mine and more calloused, but it's undeniably my skin and my long, tapered fingers, though hers are dirt-caked and with grime under the nails. She gives me a squeeze which helps fend off the tremors rocketing through my core, leaving dust and rubble in their wake. "Listen to me carefully." Her voice, my voice, seeps into my ears. It's quiet, but assertive, much the way her gaze is as she looks at me. Her hand relaxes, and the corner of her lip pulls into a small, yet comforting smile. "You are part of this curse now, whether you like it. I know it's hard to take in," she chuckles, "hell, I've been in this exact situation, thought those same thoughts." As if to prove a point, she leans over and whispers, "inferno of erect penises."

I bristle. Confirmation received. "So you are me."

She nods, then rolls up the sleeve on her right arm. What she reveals, aside from a gnarly trio of scars, is a tattoo. One I don't have. It's a black-inked pair of glasses laid across an open notebook that sits just below her wrist.

I shake my head and go to show her my own arm. "I don't have a—"

She seems to know what's coming, because she glances at my arm. Not a second later, my wrist glows. A tingling dances across my skin, but it's gone once the light fades. What it leaves behind, in case you were wondering? A tattoo of a pair of glasses laid across an open notebook, just below the wrist.

The other me flashes a self-satisfied smirk. "You were saying?"

I rub my wrist, trying to wipe away the tattoo that had just materialized. It's as unwilling to go as mom's glitter gloss. "Great," I say, frowning. "Got any other tattoos? Maybe one on my butt that the curse needs me to have?"

She shakes her head and points to her wrist. "Nope, just the one."

Other Luke clears his throat and in the silence, it echoes. This prompts Other Me to act. "Anyway," she grabs my wrist and stops me from rubbing it, "Luke and I came from the future to ensure you do as we tell you. In our version of the world, you didn't take our advice, and the apocalypse happened. There were a few survivors, and we took to hiding underground. Moved when he had to. Kept our heads low as scientists looked for a way we could correct our mistakes. One day, they stumbled upon this portal, which can lead to all roads and nowhere. Where we stand now is at the point of nothing, and yet everything."

I roll my eyes as my head feels like splitting in two. I'm not prepared for Monday's vocabulary test, let alone a talk about quantum physics.

The other me grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Listen," her eyes are pleading. I nod. I can't deny myself, "they sent us back, to correct our mistakes—"

"So, like in Terminator 2?" I ask.

She grimaces. I blink, waiting for a response. Her mouth tenses, her brows pull tight over her eyes and after flexing and extending her fingers a few times, she finally utters, "Yes," her jaw tenses and the remaining words come out in a clipped staccato, "like in Terminator 2."

"Technically, I could say the same of original Terminator," I continue, prompting other me to glower, "but considering the sequel's superior to Terminator in every way, let's continue using it for comparison."

"Addie!" she yells and I snap to attention. "We're here to make sure the future hell we live in doesn't happen in this timeline."

Her gaze burns with conviction. I gulp and hang my head. Here I was quipping, while other me was trying to save humanity.

"Sorry," I say. I mean it, I am sorry.

She reaches for me, pats my head. "It's okay. I never realized how much of a brat we are until I stood on this side of the timeline. But listen, please." I nod. She gets to her knees and brushes the fringe out of my eyes so she can see me, all of me. "Live out your trope. Do as they do. Study if you must. Pick up YA at the library. Do your research and be nice to Cam." Now, she's rocking a full-blown grin. "She's not so bad." With that, she gets up and turns toward Other Luke. As they turn away from me and my Luke, the portal ruptures and a crack splinters across the space.

"Wait," I say, getting to my feet. "What trope? Who's Cam? Addie, please," I plea. "Tell me. Please."

She casts me a sideways glance. "Sorry, Ads. I don't have the luxury. But trust me when I say this, 'Become the trope, save the world.'"

Part of her arm gets sucked into the hole that's formed. She frowns as more of herself gets pulled in. It exaggerates her features, making her look like a monster.

Other Luke nods at his counterpart, who returns the gesture. "Become the trope," he slaps his chest, "save the world."

The portal engulfs most of other Luke and myself by now, distending their limbs. Blue combines with fleshy swirls, making for a post-modern mess of human and portal. And then, behind all that, there're other colors. Bright oranges and flickering reds. Scream comes to my ears. Noxious smoke scented of blood wafts up my nostrils.

Shit. We'd really done it. Ended their world. Who knew procrastination and apathy could lead to destruction?

Luke shakes my shoulder.

"Wh-what?"

Stern-faced, he turns me around to face the way I'd entered. The portal's returned, showing the inside of his bathroom and the one slippery bastard tile. "It's time to head back," he says, taking a step forward.

Without thinking, which I should consider not doing anymore since one slip up could end the world, I latch onto his shirt. "W-wa-wa-wait." He pauses, though he doesn't look at me.

I gulp, trying to wrap my head around everything, trying to scrounge up the right words. "So, I'm just to-to accept this," though the tattoo doesn't hurt, it burns as I run my thumb over it, as though it's sentient and reminding me it exists, "that what I've just been through actually happened and live accordingly?"

Luke turns and gives me a sad smile. "It's that or we destroy everything there is."

"But that's unfair!" I stomp my feet onto the ground. I know I sound childish and probably look like a toddler, but it's all I can do to vent my frustration, my confusion. Luke looks sorrowfully at me before continuing his walk toward his bathroom. I'm still latched onto him and so I try with all my might to stop him, to get him to look at me, but I'm no match. He drags me toward the portal like I'm a rag doll and the closer we get, the more Luke glistens. His muscles seem to grow too, or at the very least become more prominent. A perfect curl of hair falls in front of his face and when he bites down on his lip, something dazzles in his gaze, and my legs feel ready to collapse.

With one foot on the bathroom tile, one still inside the portal, Luke gives my hand one last squeeze. It's soft and warm. Those god's gift fingers of his comfort me. Help my heart return to a normal pace. I return the squeeze. "Being a teenager's never fair," he says, stepping all the way through the portal.

The blue recedes and for a moment, I'm blinded by the fluorescences of the bathroom coupled with the fading afternoon sun flooding his room through the window. A cigarette's materialized in Luke's mouth, dangling from the corner of his lips. His shirt fits like a glove.

Holy crap. Everything he told me was true. Not a fantasy. Not a delusion. The truth.

Be the trope, save the world.

Luke swaggers into his bedroom, not bothering to look my way. Maybe he's disinterested, or maybe he's exhausted. Lord knew I was.

Instead, he points toward his door and shrugs. "A good girl like you shouldn't come into my room," he purrs, low and guttural. It catches me off-guard since I'd seen him unload minutes ago, his voice shrill, unhinged, not seductive in the slightest. "Unless," in one swift motion, he pulls the hair out of his face and tosses a side smirk my way deadly enough to kill, "you're prepared for what'll happen."

Sensing the mounting danger in the room, I take a step back. This seems to amuse Luke, as he turns to face me full-on, gaze singular, focused. Predatory. Haloed in fading light, he steals my breath away. "I can't control myself when I'm around you, Adds," he continues.

"But I," oh, what am I doing? Why am I engaging him? Just turn tail and run. I didn't though. Something holds me in place and compels me to finish my thought, "but I thought you didn't know I existed." The words squeak out of my mouth, small and frail. Desperate.

Why, though? What am I still doing here?

He knows I exist. We just had a life-altering conversation in another dimension where we'd been joined by our parallel, older selfs and chatted about the end of the world. So what was happening? What was this bizarre turn in conversation?

Luke whirls around and reaches for me. His fingers dig into my shoulders, hands warm enough to melt the cool air of the AC blowing my way. "I knew you existed," he says, eyes boring into mine. My heart catapults against my ribs. "I've always known. How could I not?" His heady breath tickles my cheeks. It reeks of tobacco and soured alcohol. I'm not repulsed by it. Rather, it's the opposite. I'm drawn in, like a magnet or a moth to flame, uncaring if I get burned.

With a deft, gentle hand, he reaches up and secures a lock of my hair behind my ear. His thumb lingers as it traces my earlobe, which sends shivers coursing through my body. "You're my brother's best friend, and you're unlike anyone I've ever met before." Darkness falls across his face, shading his cheeks, pooling in his dimples. Something has painted Luke's soul black.

Wait.

Why are my thought so...strange? And explain-y? What does it even mean to have a soul painted black?

Suddenly, I'm pushed away. The absence of his warmth against my skin causes me to frown. "You should stay away from me, Adds." Luke cocks his head, and flashes me a sad grin. It's beautifully heartbreaking. "I'm no good." He glances at his hands but once, extending the fingers before tightening them into fists. "I'll just tarnish you if I touch you."

What am I? Brass?

Instead of speaking what's on my mind, I can't. I'm too caught up in Luke's orbit, forced to play opposite him as 'sad girl enamored.' "You want to touch me?" I ask.

Luke's eyes widen for just a split second before he bites into his lower lip. The whole of him radiates a dangerous, sensual heat. "I crave it."

He steps toward me. Again and again. I can't move. Something's refusing to let me escape. Whatever it is, it's probably the same invisible force feeding me this two-bit dialogue.

Before Luke can reach me though, he stops, legs shaking. His face contorts into an expression of pain. "Leave, Addie. Please. Remember what you learned."

Beneath us, the ground rumbles. Luke grits his teeth. "Can't," he says between huffs, "Can't break character for too long or else the demon—"

A crack skitters down his wall.

He's right. There's no time to waste.

Before he can ensnare me in any more troubled glares or tragic backstory, I bolt from his room, sprint down the stairs and run back to my house. I forget about Brax, but he's probably forgotten me, too, too absorbed in his practice laps to notice my pee break has stretched on for eternities, or seconds. Who knows how long I've been gone.

As I'm flying across the lawn, I promise to apologize to Brax later. A few pints of Rocky Road ought to do the trick.

Out of breath, lungs on fire, I reach my doorstep. The ground returns to relative peace. I take a few to regain my composure and wrestle the keys from my pant's pocket.

The second the key's in my hand, I'm shoving it in the lock and throwing the door open, ready to leave this day behind. And then I trip in the foyer and fall flat on my butt. A curse slips from my lips, but I shrug off the pain, remove my sneakers and make for my bedroom.

My body's exhausted. Too much had happened, and I'm half-desiring tomorrow not to come. The tattoo tingles, reminding me I'm part of the curse. Destined to be a part of Luke's waking nightmare. I'll have to play my part to keep the world existing, and I'm a terrible actress - maybe that's why other me's world ended.

I sigh and close my eyes. Left in complete darkness, it doesn't take long for me to find sleep. The End Times litter my dreams. Fire and brimstone and hell's armies marching on the world. And somehow, among all that chaos, Luke Mezaretti's underwear makes an unexpected appearance. The dream makes me simultaneously horny and terrified, overloading my subconscious with mixed signals, but before I have time to process any of it, I'm slipping into a deeper sleep.

It'll be fine. I'll wake up and it'll be like none of this happened. Yeah. That's how it'll play out.

It will be fine. It has to be, because the alternative scares me to death.