KAISER

Today's class is as dull as ever. Instead, I sneak out and find a bar across the street where I down five or six bottles of beer.

I pay for my drinks and worry about the drive home. I should call Malik, but my ego isn't interested in his preaching right now.

It's raining as I grab my keys and wallet and head back to the organization parking lot, where I reach my brand-new metallic silver Porsche 918 Spyder that I bought last weekend.

Well, that's my parents' way of showing affection—money. So, you can't blame me for using it to buy redundant stuff whenever I please.

I can barely see the street, and I know if the cops stop me, I'm done for.

As I drag on a cigarette and expel the smoke into the small space, I drive four miles per hour slower than the surrounding traffic, knowing I could make it home safely if I maintain this pace and focus on the rain-drenched, virtually blurred road.

With the smoke and pouring rain, my windshield steams up. I have to wipe it frequently to help my impaired vision, a result of the alcohol in my system.

The instructor from the organization had said, "Remember to breathe, inhale, and exhale, knowing only you have the strength to pull yourself out of any depth. Let yourself know you're not giving up. Not today."

I take slow breaths. "Not today," I tell myself.

I can do it.

Fortunately, I make it back to Center Yorker safely. I park the car among the rest of the collection and scramble out.

By the time the elevator doors open, all I need is sleep.

But with the music playing in the background, the house feels like a party floor.

"You can't possibly compare the two," Riley says.

"Of course, now it looks so much better," Daisy agrees.

I stop in my tracks, trying to find a way to escape to my room without encountering the girls.

"We only have to finish the last side; the walls already look good," Riley comments excitedly.

That ignites me. I hastily push my stumbling feet forward until the living room comes into view.

No, she didn't.

I am taken aback by what they've turned my penthouse into and miss what Riley is saying. "Hey, baby, you're back."

She stands before me, wearing my shirt.

Wait, my shirt? Isn't that what Daisy is wearing?

So help me, Lord, if I did not...

"Babe?"

Riley's voice is like a defibrillator to my heart, jolting me back from a long stupor in an instant.

I avert my gaze from the bitch looking better in my shirt to the girl I should be focusing on.

"Are you okay?" she asks worriedly, running her fingers through my slightly damp hair.

"Yes," I utter, pushing my feet toward the kitchen. I pull open the side-by-side fridge and grab a bottle of water.

"You're drunk, KC," she says, her tone heavy with anger, disappointment, and accusation.

But should I care? I'm not the one who invited a bitch into the penthouse, nor am I the one who changed the walls without permission.

Taupe? She must be kidding me.

"So you keep saying," I grunt. She mentioned the same thing the other night.

Doesn't she get tired of trying? It's obvious I can't be the man she deserves. I am a mess, thanks to the deceiver across the room.

I refuse to look at the sadness in her eyes as she says, "Daisy, can you please help me make some coffee for him? I'll set the bathtub."

"I don't need any of your help; I can do it myself," I oppose.

Ignoring me, Riley disappears into the bedroom while I stand still, watching the lair make her way into the kitchen.

"Your hypocrisy has earned you my shirt? Pathetic! Riley has no idea the serpent she's let into her home," I hiss, but she ignores me and turns on the coffee maker.

She can't possibly move in and make my home hers, owning my walls and my wardrobe.

I shift closer until I can smell her sweet shampoo. "You know, what surprises me is your audacity. You must have some nerve to paint here as if it's your place."

"I didn't paint it like mine. I thought you'd like the color when Riley asked for my opinion," she says. Her muscles tense; she can't take her eyes off the machine nor move her body. I bet my closeness has pinned her in place.

"I hate it. I hate colors. That's why everything is white." Yes, I've hated colors since the day she left me.

"That's why you have only white clothes."

What?

Does she think she knows me? Does she think she has me all figured out?

"You should know your place. But for your information, I wear black too; it reminds me of how dark your soul is," I spat and stepped away from her.

Instead of responding, she hands me a mug of black coffee, her eyes avoiding mine.

Liar, feigning innocence.

I hate her. I hate her for making me want to wipe away the sadness from her pretty face.

I should be seeking tears falling from her long eyelashes. I should see her begging for forgiveness for everything she's put me through.

Evil; that's what she is.

Without thinking, I lift the mug and pour the hot coffee over her. "Oh, it slipped," I smirk.

She instinctively cries out and swerves back. Her shirt is now stained with black coffee, and her long brunette hair sticks to her skin. Tears run down her face as her body slightly shakes; she uses her palms to wipe the coffee from her eyes.

I hear Cuppy wailing from the corner of the island before snuggling himself on the cold floor.

Was it too hot? Did I hurt her?

Was it too much?

I want to hold her and kiss her.

I'm at a loss until she walks over to the cabinet and retrieves another mug.

Confused, I watch her shaky hands pour the remaining coffee into the mug and offer it to me.

She swallows, her head inclined, refusing to meet my eyes. "It's not much, but it might help," she whispers.

Help?

Who does she think she is?

She can continue to fake politeness, but I know deep down she's nothing but a witch.

"I hate you, can't you understand? I hate having you around. Riley is my everything; she loves me as much as I love her. Why don't you disappear back to where you came from?" I shove the mug aside and turn around, not sparing a glance back.

I know Riley is mad at me, but I'd rather face her than Daisy's broken eyes. I bet they're fake too. She's a liar; I shouldn't expect any better.

I hate my life.

I thought I wanted her out of my life, but I know I'm only lying to myself.

For years, she'd given me a home, and a roof when it was raining, and my parents were pursuing their dreams and forgot to come home and open the door for me. Daisy had given me a space in her home all those days.

Now I can't expel her from mine. I couldn't deny her the warmth she had given me when I was lonely, but then again, she had taken it away for eight years.

DAISY

EIGHT YEARS AGO

"Everyone grab a roller," Mom instructs after we finish our meal.

"I'd use a brush," I insist.

"Daisy, it's for the edges."

"Then I'll paint the edges; I'll do the window sides." Ignoring my parents' suspicious glances, I drag a bucket and head to the first window. I climb onto a stool and straddle the window frame with one leg inside and one outside the house. "Kay, can you give me a hand here?"

"Sure." He drops the roller stained with taupe paint and picks up a brush.

Kay runs over and joins me, sitting behind me with our backs touching as we paint the edges.

"Your house will feel brand new by the time it's done," he says.

"It's funny how people won't recognize the upgrade though; it's the same color as before," I laugh at the thought.

"Yeah, but it looks brilliant and smells fresh. That's what new feels like," he says.

"Of course."

"When I have a house of my own, I'll paint it just as brilliantly as your home."

"Taupe?" I ask curiously.

"Yes, only taupe," he promises, just as the paint splashes on my forehead.

"Ouch!" I cry.

"What?" He turns, concern evident in his tone.

"I have paint all over me," I whine, my eyes tightly closed.

"It's only a bit on your forehead; open your eyes," he instructs. Cautiously, I oblige.

Surprisingly, I'm unharmed. I feel relieved.

He pulls out a napkin from his denim dungaree and wipes my forehead. "I'll use this to clean it up." He moves slowly with an infectious smile on his lips.

PRESENT

We had the strongest bond that any best friends could. What happened to that? What happened to us?

I can't hold back the tears as I painfully scrub my skin with a sponge. The coffee rinses out of my hair as I watch it stream down the shower drain.

Why does he treat me so poorly? Why is he so cruel?

I should feel lucky; the coffee wasn't hot enough to burn my skin.

Why did he do that?

I'd be moving out of his building if my mom didn't have lung cancer if I didn't want to convince her to quit her job and use the money she saved for my college tuition.

Instead, I'm stuck here because I have no hope.

So I wrapped a blanket around myself, dressed in my pajamas, and descended to the living room as Riley demanded when I told her I wanted to shower.

She has no idea of the hell I'm enduring. She doesn't know her boyfriend despises me and treats me worse than anyone should be treated.

I should tell her, but I know I can't. What if she hates me? What if she kicks me out? What if it destroys our friendship?

"Sushi time," Riley announces excitedly.

She sits on Kay's lap on the carpet, her hand hooked around his neck.

I swallow the lump in my throat and lower myself to the carpet, sitting at the far side of the middle table filled with a variety of Japanese takeout.

"You're going to love it. KC ordered from a five-star Japanese restaurant," she says proudly, smiling at him before connecting her lips with his.

His eyes remain open as he stares at me with a thick smugness.

I watch him kiss her, his hands all over Riley. It rises bile in my throat. What's wrong with me?

I can't stop my eyes from welling up.

Why does it hurt? Why do I feel something negative toward Riley? Why is Kay torturing me?

I feel confined, and school hasn't even started yet.