A/n- Do you guys mind the length of each chapter? They're so long because I have so many characters to write, but I can always make more and shorter chapters!

**

Alejandro groaned, resting his forehead against his work desk. Diplomacy school was draining the life out of him. Three more months and I get a break, he reminded himself—just three more. Before sitting back up, he banged his head on the desk several times.

"Jodidamente estúpido trabajo que consume mucho tiempo" (Fucking stupid time-consuming work), he muttered.

Alejandro spent a grand total of three minutes before getting up to stretch and grab a snack. He took a red apple from the refrigerator and munched into it, indulging in the fresh and juicy taste.

He dug in his back pocket for his phone. Scrolling through the news, he halted when he saw a picture of Heather walking somewhere in the city. She wore a giant black turtleneck sweater with cream-colored corduroys. Her hair was fixed up in a messy bun. The article heading read: "Toronto's famous model, Heather Wilson, pregnant?"

"¿Qué?" Alejandro continued biting his apple while he clicked on the search result and skimmed through the news story that looked more like a prodigious college essay from far away. How much can one possibly write about a simple picture of mi amor on the street? He thought.

Alejandro read a paragraph in the middle. "This hot Canadian model has recently been spotted wearing this sweatshirt in public. Her stomach looks rather inflated here! Could she be carrying a little bundle of joy? It's a good thing she and her super sexy boyfriend, Alejandro Burromuerto (yes, that's his real last name), are still together. Does that mean a big wedding is in store for us soon? The possibilities are endless!"

Alejandro scowled at their jab toward his last name. He was so hung up on that, that he almost forgot about the article's main subject: Heather's possible pregnancy.

As expected, Alejandro was worried. His palms sweated as he clicked on his girlfriend's contact. Within two rings, Heather answered.

"Hey, is everything ok?"

"Sí. I mean—I hope so. I saw an article online about you, amor," said Alejandro.

Heather made an irked noise and heaved a sigh, "What did it say?"

"I just wanted to know if you are...with child?" He bounced his legs nervously.

Pause.

"What do you think?" She answered.

"I don't know! They showed a picture of you in a sweatshirt, and it looked kind of like a pregnant belly!"

"No, Alejandro. I'm not fucking pregnant," Heather said. "What kind of website did you get that from? Photoshop central?"

"No! It's on the main news!" Alejandro told her.

"We've always used condoms and birth control. Our chances are pretty low."

"But not impossible! I was just worried, amor," he whined.

"Well, don't worry because I'd tell you if I was pregnant," said Heather.

"I know," he frowned. "Sorry, I got caught up in the panic."

"—What picture is it?"

Alejandro put Heather on speakerphone and switched his screen to the news. "You're wearing a black sweater. You look gorgeous as ever."

"Why did I look pregnant?" She asked, a fragment of anxiety in her voice. "Have I gained weight?"

"No, mi reina, not at all." Alejandro squinted and zoomed up on the photo. "Now that I see it again, it looks like the wind's blowing your shirt."

"Could you send me that picture?"

"Heather," he began, "you look fine. Trust me."

"Just send it to me!" Heather snapped impatiently.

"Ok, ok. I will. But you better not obsess over yourself, ángel."

"I won't. All I want is to see it."

Alejandro reluctantly took a screenshot. "I am texting it to you as we speak."

"Thank you," Heather said, relieved. "I'll be off work in three hours if you want me over this evening. I'm on break now."

Alejandro almost said no because he still needed to complete hours of tedious diplomat homework. "Yeah, I'd love to have you over," he heard himself answer.

"Alright, see you, babe. And don't worry about making dinner. I'm eating a huge meal with my coworkers right now," Heather lied. Lately, she couldn't stand to eat in front of anyone—especially Alejandro. Who knows what he thought when he saw her eat a bunch of food? He said he loved her body, and she wanted him to keep loving her body.

"Ok. I'll see you later, mi amor. Drive here safely."

"Of course," she replied softly. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Heather hung up, staring at the spacious windows about fifty feet in front of her. She sat in the comfy brown chairs in the Flatter Allure break room. She had brought a granola bar to snack on in her purse, but she decided not to take it out. Heather had a decent-sized lunch a few hours ago and wanted to save the bar for Alejandro's house. She'd eat it whenever he went to shower or use the bathroom.

"Hey, Heath," Amelia Winters, one of her coworkers, stepped into the wide-open area.

"Hey," she faked a smile.

"What's been up with you? I haven't seen you in forever." Amelia sat in the chair across from her, folding her hands in her lap. Her honey skin Complemented her blood-orange miniskirt.

Heather crossed her legs. "Not much. Just work."

"Ugh, tell me about it. I got nearly fifty-five hours last week, and I'm doing fifty this week."

"That must be nice. I've got sixty this week."

Amelia gasped. "Oh no, that sounds like hell. But you're so famous." She sipped out of her blue coffee mug. A lot of women here would give anything to be in your position. You look so good!"

This made Heather perk up. "Really?"

"Duh!" Amelia laughed, resting her elbow on the chair's cushy arm. "We all want to be you. You have the perfect hair, a gorgeous boyfriend, and the perfect body. Your physique has gotten so good since I last saw you!"

"Well, I already know I'm hot," Heather smirked, reverting to her pseudo aplomb. "But you think I look even better than before?"

"Yes, of course! You could fit into almost anything!"

I guess my diet is working, Heather thought. She opened Alejandro's message with the screenshot of the paparazzi photo. She used her fingers to zoom in and felt her stomach drop like she was on an elevator plummeting to the ground. My stomach looks so big! That can't be the wind!

Heather glanced at her stomach. Am I really that big?

"Hey," Amelia spoke. "You ok, girl?"

"—Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured. "I'm just tired from all my hours."

Amelia snorted. "You need some coffee. My venti Blonde Roast saves me every day. You look like a coffee girl. Did I get it right?"

"Yeah, I normally love coffee. I'm on a diet right now, though."

"Oh," Amelia nodded. "I'd tell you to get some decaf, but there's hardly any caffeine in those babies. Won't do a thing for you unless you drink, like, one hundred of them. By the way, have you heard about the coffee-drinking contest they're having on the 26th? I could never drink that much!"

"Mhm," Heather replied emotionlessly, engrossed with her street picture.

"Imagine how fucked up the competitors are after—"

"Hey, Amelia," Heather interrupted. "I'm going to use the restroom, and then I'm off break." She stood up. "See you later."

Amelia puckered her lips. "—Alright, see you later." Her eyes followed Heather as she headed to the ladies' room, still fixated on her phone.

Heather checked under each stall before entering one to purge. After she finished, her head spun. As she stood up, she stumbled, nearly banging her head on the toilet's edge.

"Fuck," Heather breathed, pressing her hands against the walls for support. Her legs wobbled, and the world around her looked static. She frantically blinked until she got her normal vision back.

"Fuck," Heather repeated. Tears gathered in her eyes. "Stop," she whispered sharply to herself. "Just stop, dammit."

She thought of Alejandro. He definitely wouldn't want her doing this. She didn't want to do this.

Heather looked at Alejandro's name on her phone: Jerkface🥰. She almost called him and told him everything. There was nothing she wanted to do more than break down in his arms and beg for help. The fear of losing him to her sickness kept her silent.

Heather sobbed quietly into her hands, shaking like a child watching a horror film. She tugged on her hair, imagining ripping it from her scalp and screaming until her lungs exploded.

You'll never stop, hissed a callous voice in her head. Keep going, and you'll end up killing yourself. Heather thought about death. This was the worst way possible to die—by slowly starving yourself and burning your throat out.

She leaned against the stall door, letting her body slide to the floor. The digital clock on her phone read 4:20 pm. Heather still had ten minutes of break time. Ten more minutes until she had to put on her mask and pretend she wasn't viscously killing herself for a job.

But it wasn't just about the managerial position anymore.

*~*~*~*~*

Courtney waited in the parking lot outside the clinic. Ten minutes had passed, so she called Duncan. About twelve rings emitted through the speaker, then his voicemail: "Hey, it's Duncan. If I'm not answering, I'm either busy, or I don't like you. I may or may not get back with you. Bye."

Courtney turned her phone over, rolling her eyes. "Go figure," she spat. Duncan's voicemail was almost as obnoxious as his actual voice. While she waited, she blasted her favorite classical music soundtrack.

Halfway through the fifth song, Courtney checked the time. She had five minutes until her appointment started. She punched Duncan's number, prepared to chew him out. When the voicemail went off again, she stayed to leave a message: "Duncan, you better be no more than two minutes away from this clinic! If you don't show up..." she hesitated, her mind scrambling for words, "...if you don't show up, you'll be sorry!"

Courtney hung up. She didn't know exactly why he'd be sorry, but she wanted to intimidate him.

As if on cue, Duncan rolled up on his motorbike in the parking space a row in front of Courtney. She rose out of her car, tugging her black purse behind her.

Courtney made an authoritative march toward Duncan. He was taking off his skull helmet when she tapped his shoulder.

Duncan jolted. "What the fu—" he shut up when he saw the tall, brunette, mocha-skinned girl standing behind him with her arms crossed. "Jesus, Courtney. You scared the shit out of me."

"Good," Courtney stuck up her nose. "You deserve it for being late."

Duncan glanced at his smartwatch. "Actually, I'm right on time. Only two minutes 'til your appointment."

"On time is late. Have you learned nothing from working?" She scoffed, looking at him like she was on a pedestal a thousand feet higher than him.

Duncan stared at her momentarily, then secured his helmet on the bike's black handlebar. "Let's go in," he said blandly.

For once, Courtney didn't have anything to rejoin. She had expected Duncan to argue with her, to glare at her with his icy teal eyes spitefully. But he simply walked ahead of her toward the entrance. She cocked her head sideways. He's changed.

The receptionist was busy on the phone with another patient. She politely held up her red-painted fingernail, signaling Duncan and Courtney to "wait one moment."

Courtney planted herself on the chair closest to the front desk. As Duncan sat down, he left a chair between them. She gave him an insulted look but quickly stopped when all he did was turn the other way.

Courtney grabbed a magazine from the glass table in front of them. She flipped through the pages until this heading stood out: Everything you need to know about motherhood.

The picture showed a black woman holding a newborn in her arms. The baby wore a light pink bow around her head. A tender smile tugged on Courtney's lips. She thought of her childhood. In all of her baby pictures, she wore a headband of some sort. No wonder I have chronic headaches, Courtney thought, her face falling flat.

Then, Courtney wondered if her mother would've kept her if she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. The thought made Courtney uncomfortable because she was giving up this baby. She wanted nothing to do with being a mother for the next five years at least—even if she were married.

But if Angela wanted to be a mother, and she wasn't yet married to Frederick, would they have kept Courtney? Was her mother's love for her solely based on her life situation when she got pregnant?

"How can I help you, ma'am?" The receptionist got off the phone.

Courtney stood up, giving Duncan a side-eye. It took him a minute because he was scrolling through his phone, but he got up.

"Hi, I'm Courtney Barlow. I have an appointment with Doctor Green at 4:30."

"Courtney..." She said to herself, typing quickly on her keyboard. "Ah, yes, Ms. Barlow! Nurse Penny will be right with you!"

"Thank you," Courtney smiled.

The front desk lady handed Courtney a few papers on a clipboard to fill out while they waited for the nurse.

As Courtney wrote down her information, she noticed how quiet it was in the lobby. Only one other woman was in the room beside the fish tank, and Duncan wasn't helping matters. He was silent as a rock, looking at god knows what on his phone.

He doesn't want to be here, Courtney thought. He doesn't care. She was tempted to tell him he could leave, but if she did, that would mean she let him off easy. Courtney wanted her control back. She wanted karma to run him over like a train. She was perfectly fine until he came back into her life in the most demented way possible.

All that therapy for nothing.

"Courtney?" Nurse Penny came through the door.

"Yes, right here." Courtney got up, securely holding the clipboard in one arm. Duncan leisurely followed behind.

"How are you?" Penny asked.

"I'm good; how are you?" Answered Courtney in an accustomed manner.

"I'm doing well, thank you. We're just going to do a quick checkup routine, then we can..."

Duncan drowned out the nurse's voice. Bland, white walls surrounded him, exuding a cold atmosphere. Courtney's assumption was correct—he really didn't want to be here. Although he knew he could've declined Courtney's offer to show up, he felt this was the best way to take responsibility while staying out of her life.

The nurse took Courtney's weight and blood pressure and went through the usual questions in the doctor's office: "What medications are you on?" "Do you smoke or drink alcohol?" "When was your last menstrual cycle before you were pregnant?" "Have you had any nausea or vomiting recently? What times of the day?"

Suddenly, Duncan felt two pairs of eyes on him. Two disapproving glances at him. He cautiously lifted his head from his phone. "Uh—what was the question?" He kept his attention on the nurse, afraid to witness Courtney's formidable glare.

"She asked if you're the baby's father," Courtney answered sharply.

Duncan swallowed. Oops. Didn't know I was gonna be asked questions too. "Yeah," he nodded. "But we're not together. The baby's going out for adoption, so I won't have any questions."

Nurse Penny blinked, stupefied. Courtney shielded her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Sir," Penny began, "Ms. Barlow has already informed us about what path she's choosing to pursue at the end of her pregnancy. I'm asking you this because you may have questions about the pregnancy."

Duncan's lips parted slightly. Wow, so Courtney already told them what she would do before she even asked me? He figured her latest doctor's appointment before they met at the café was more than two weeks ago—not that he hoped she'd choose anything else. Still, he was irked that she acted like he needed to be more responsible when her communication with him was rocky. "Oh," he replied, leaning back in the chair. "Well, I don't have any questions about the pregnancy, either. I'm sure Courtney's done her research."

The nurse opened her mouth to speak when Courtney interjected. "I have, but there's so much the internet gets wrong Duncan," she said his name like a curse. "And I may have more questions as the pregnancy progresses."

Penny wondered if Duncan would keep showing up until the delivery day. She had witnessed a lot of mothers showing up with men they were dating or even married to end up alone by the time they reached the third trimester. Whether the women were planning to raise the baby or not, the situation was still frightening.

"Ok, my bad," said Duncan, holding his hands up.

Nurse Penny pursed her lips at him, then turned back to Courtney. "Unfortunately, we won't be able to do the ultrasound today because our technician went home sick an hour ago, but we can get the pelvic and breast exams done."

Courtney nodded. "When's the soonest I can have the ultrasound done?"

"We can get you in here about a week from now."

"Ok, that's perfect."

"Are you comfortable with everyone in the room?" The nurse asked.

Needless to say, Duncan ended up back in the waiting room. So to him, this appointment was essentially a waste of time. He listened to Courtney's angry voicemail and rolled his eyes dismissively. Eventually, he got bored of his phone and picked up one of the magazines.

Rare symptoms of pregnancy, one of the article titles read. "Hmm," he hummed inquisitively. "Some women get nosebleeds, swollen gums, a metal taste in their mouth, blue discharge..."

"What the fuck?" Duncan whispered. He remembered when his mother, Natalie, was pregnant with his youngest brother, Dallas. She had complained a few times about how it hurt to brush her teeth, in which his father, John, told her she was being overdramatic.

Duncan was relieved that his parents got a divorce last year. John was nothing but abusive to Natalie. Duncan never got along with his father.

It started when Duncan was eight, skateboarding on the sidewalk next to a busy road when John had specifically told him not to. Duncan made up a sob story to Natalie, who took his side and gave John the cold shoulder.

Once Duncan discovered what he could get away with, he deliberately annoyed his father. Back then, he didn't know how his antics affected his mother. Duncan was fine taking a blow or two from John when he got in trouble, but he wasn't ok with John taking it out on Natalie.

The Nelson household quickly became a battlefield with John and Duncan on opposing sides. "It's your fault that I have to yell at your mother like this. I don't want to yell at her, but you leave me no choice when you pull this kind of shit!" John had told Duncan when he was fifteen—the year before he got sent to juvie for the first time.

While Duncan was in juvie, Natalie called him daily and told him she missed him and that his father did too, but he doubted it. John had only called once. Duncan let his mom play out her fantasy of a perfect family because she deserved no less.

When Duncan went to prison at nineteen, Natalie was the one who bailed him out. Over the last four years, John had only spoken to him five times.

After Duncan read a few more magazine pages, Courtney ambled through the door with a small blue card in her hand. She flipped it over, shoving it in Duncan's face. "It's my next appointment. Try and be here earlier next week. Shouldn't be too much of a challenge, hm?"

Duncan cleared his throat. "There was traffic."

"Huh, funny. Not while I was driving."

"Which way do you come from?"

"The East," Courtney answered.

Duncan stood up. "I come from the north side of the highway. There's always a traffic jam there. And no, I don't start them, in case you were wondering." He turned to leave.

Courtney stood there, dumbstruck. She filed her nails on the edges of the appointment reminder card in place of grinding her teeth.

"You coming?" He asked, pausing with his head turned slightly.

"—Yeah," she mumbled, containing her anger.

Before getting on his motorcycle, Duncan took a screenshot of the appointment reminder. "Don't worry, I'll try to be here earlier next time," he gave her a lighthearted smile. He felt somewhat guilty for hardly participating at the start of the appointment. The guilt hit him now because he saw the wounded expression on Courtney's face. Ok, maybe I can lighten up a bit, he thought. She's pregnant. But I am not letting her walk all over me. Not this time.

Courtney watched as Duncan rode off. The cold, early February air nipped at her nose, so she quickly got in her car. The first thing she did -after switching the heater on- was text Heather: The appointment went ok. Duncan was a major asshole, but what's new?

With a sigh, she put her phone down, knowing her friend probably wouldn't answer right away because she was at work.

Even with Heather's support, Courtney still felt so alone in this. Heather had her own life with Alejandro. She couldn't always be there for her.

And Duncan didn't even care. Then again, it's not like she cared, either. Every day, she had to remind herself that this baby wouldn't be hers. They would go home with two parents who loved them and had the stability to care for them.

Courtney just wanted Duncan to care at least a little for her well-being. Was it too much to ask? Has she really damaged him that much? She flinched at the memories of her long list -more like a book- that she had made Duncan follow all those years ago. She pressed her forehead on the steering wheel hard. I fucked up our relationship so badly. It was bound to shatter into a million pieces. And why am I still thinking about this?

*~*~*~*~*

"Geoff, buddy, could you get this next customer for me real quick? I gotta run to the restroom," Ryan, one of the bartenders at The Night Owl asked.

"Of course, man," Geoff nodded. He beamed widely at the customer sitting in front of him. "What can I get ya, dude?"

"I'll have the Labatt Blue cocktail, please," the man said.

"Comin' right up!" Geoff grabbed a bottle from the back, poured the alcohol into a glass, then mixed in lemon juice and maple syrup. He pressed an orange slice on the lip before serving it.

"That looks so good, man," the guy smiled.

"Thanks, man. Enjoy!"

Geoff checked the time on the neon clock above the bar. 11:15 pm. He had fifteen minutes left in his shift. He wasn't supposed to work tonight but gladly covered a coworker's shift, so his manager only put him on for two and a half hours instead of six or seven hours.

Luckily, employees were allowed to take out their phones when they weren't busy. Geoff texted Gwen: Quick, favorite type of beer!

Tonight, Gwen was coming over to his house. They had planned this a few days ago to meet earlier, but they were both flexible.

Gwen texted back. I think I'll have to go with Moosehead Lager. Can't go wrong with that!

Geoff: Awesome. I'll smuggle some out of work for us ;)

Gwen: Scandalous🫢

Geoff laughed. How many do u want?

Gwen: I'll just take a couple. No getting wasted for me tonight. I have a busy painting day tomorrow :)

Geoff: Alright, G. C u in approx. 25 mins✌🏼✌🏼

Gwen: See you :)

Geoff could almost see Gwen's contagious smile through the screen. He couldn't wait fifteen more minutes. When Gwen wasn't at work with him, she occupied his mind more than he'd ever admit.

Gwen became more beautiful to Geoff every day. But what got him wasn't just her looks. She was smart, hardworking, caring, and passionate about everything she did...and he just wanted to know more.

"Yo Geoff, boss says you're free to go for the night," Jeremy, another coworker, told him.

"Really? Awesome, dude! I'll see you dudes tomorrow night!" Geoff grabbed four beers, stuffed them into a brown paper bag, clocked out on the register, and grabbed his coat.

"Bye, Geoff!" A few other workers waved.

"Adios compadres!" Geoff waved his hand high in the air. Coming home a little early, so u can head over, he texted Gwen after he started his car.

Gwen answered before he could start driving. Ok, see you in a few!!

Geoff jammed out to his party playlist on the way home. He imagined Gwen sitting next to him in the passenger seat, making fun of the lyrics or maybe even singing them. He had caught her humming to some of his favorite songs occasionally—mostly when they were at work.

They often carpooled to work because Geoff had insisted. Gwen got used to it fairly quickly. Neither of them needed to ask anymore. Their drives were filled with laughter and conversations that only close friends had.

Gwen was someone Geoff felt comfortable around. Everything about her was so genuine.
He felt like she wouldn't judge him for anything.

He arrived at his apartment and noticed how pleasant the weather was for a February night in Toronto. Eyeing the flat roof, he smirked.

A few minutes later, Gwen parked outside Geoff's apartment complex. She stepped out of her truck, wearing a dark blue drawstring hoodie.

She headed toward the door on the right, remembering it from his party a month ago. "Hey, G!!" Geoff called.

Gwen quickly moved her head from side to side in an almost bird-like manner. "What?" She whispered to herself. "Geoff, where are you?!" She called back.

"Look up!"

Gwen did as he told her. A phone flashlight shone down from the rooftop. She squinted. "Geoff, what the hell are you doing up there?!"

"I thought it would be a great night to sit on the roof, ya know, since it's 7 degrees!" (45 degrees Fahrenheit)

"How did you even get up there?!"

"Used my upstairs neighbor's window!" Geoff answered. "Make sure it's room 305, not 303!"

A smile crept onto Gwen's face. "Oh my god, are we seriously doing this?!"

"Hell yeah, baby! Rooftops are the life of the party!"

"Ok, I'm coming!" Gwen yelled through cupped hands. She trekked upstairs and awkwardly knocked on the door labeled 305. A young man around Gwen and Geoff's age opened the door.

"Hey, you must be Gwen!" He greeted her with a smile.

"Uh—yeah," she replied.

"Don't worry," he laughed, "Geoff told me you'd be here tonight. We both use the window every time we have people over." He motioned his head inside the apartment.

Gwen hesitatingly stepped in. She was already bad at making new friends, but walking into a stranger's home? That's something she never thought she'd be doing.

"It's right over here," the man showed her the window facing toward the parking lot. He lifted it open. "Don't worry; there's a small ladder to the right. You should have an easy time getting up there."

"Thanks," Gwen said. She stuck her head out the window. The cold wind hit her face, but it wasn't too bothersome. Geoff was right; tonight was one of those super rare Winter nights in Toronto where things weren't frozen solid.

She stretched her arm out to the metal ladder. Once she had a good grip on it, she placed her right foot on the bar. Her left hand and leg followed.

Geoff scooted toward the edge. "You ok down there?"

"You're, like, ten feet away from me," Gwen laughed. She hoisted herself onto the roof. Geoff sat close by in case she needed the extra help.

The CN tower's glowing red light stood out against the sky's deep blue tincture. The contrast almost made it look like a painting.

"How often do you go up here?" Gwen asked Geoff.

"Mostly during the summer," he answered, pulling out the Moosehead Lager bottles from the brown bag. "Rooftop parties are the best. You feel on top of the world."

Gwen glanced at the drinks. "So—I don't like to complain much, but I'm concerned about our safety. Alcohol and rooftops do not mix."

"No sweat," Geoff chuckled, patting her shoulder. He let his hand linger for a moment—any excuse to touch her longer. "We're only drinking two each, and I'm sure you're not a lightweight."

"I'm not," Gwen shook her head, a teasing smile on her lips. "And by our safety, I meant yours. I didn't know you only got two for yourself."

"If you're not getting wasted, I'm not getting wasted," he said, cracking open the bottle with his car key. He passed the key to Gwen, who struggled with it a bit.

She stuck out her tongue, grumbling frustratedly. "How the fuck do you do this?"

"Here, let me show you." Geoff held out his hand. Gwen handed him her bottle. He slid the key under the cap. "You just wanna twist it upward until it pops off." He did so, and the lid loosened and came off.

Gwen took her beer, giving him a strange yet playful look. "How many ways do you know how to open a beer bottle?"

"Uh, let's see," Geoff rubbed his chin. "I can use scissors, knives, spoons, forks, pennies, rings, lighters, doorframes, screwdrivers, other beers, and lipstick."

"—Lipstick?"

"Yeah. You can use just about anything to open one of these," he held up his beer.

Gwen burst out laughing. "And I thought I was an alcoholic."

"That's just the party lifestyle." Geoff took a swing of his beer. "You learn all kinds of skills when you turn up every weekend in high school and college."

"Sounds about right." Gwen drank her beer with him.

The next few minutes passed by in silence. It was nice that the two of them could just enjoy each other's company without saying anything.

Gwen lay down so she could look at the sky. "No stars out tonight," she frowned.

"Yeah, bummer," said Geoff, lying beside her.

"It's the stupid city pollution. If people weren't so selfish, we might actually get to see stars on a regular basis."

"You're so right, G. Our planet's beautiful."

G. Gwen let his nickname for her resound in her mind. Then, she cackled. "You know what I just realized?"

"What?" Geoff smiled, cherishing her laugh.

"Both of our names start with G, so technically, I should call you G 2.0."

"I don't know," he chuckled breathlessly. "I kinda like that it's just you."

A scarlet blush colored Gwen's cheeks. She felt warm now like it was summer. She sat up, rolling up the thick sleeves of her hoodie.

Geoff followed her movement. "Are you hot?"

"Yeah, a little," she laughed sheepishly.

He chuckled. "In this weather?"

"Shut up," Gwen lightly hit his arm, the blush still prominent on her cheeks. She was thankful it was too dark for him to see her red face.

Geoff inched closer to her, his heart racing. Gwen felt his presence draw nearer. She took a deep, shaky breath, pretending to be enraptured by the sky. She remembered what this almost led to last week.

When Geoff slowly touched Gwen's hand, she felt tingles throughout her body but stayed right where she was. She timidly turned over her palm and clasped his hand. Geoff gave it a slight squeeze, which made her feel less anxious.

"This is nice," Geoff commented.

Gwen swallowed. "Y-Yeah. Yeah, it is."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you comfortable with this?"

"Yes!" Gwen squeaked, then cleared her throat. "Yeah, I am. Sorry, my voice doesn't wanna work tonight."

Geoff's palms became sweaty. "That's ok. We don't have to say anything. We don't need to talk at all. Talking is just, like, a useless skill sometimes. What do we even have mouths for?" Oh my god, how much worse can I screw this up?! He cringed internally.

Gwen giggled, leaning against him. The way Geoff stumbled upon his words was endearing, and the mindless blabber made her feel better about her own screwup. She couldn't believe what a mess he was around her. "I don't think our mouths are useless. I like talking to you. A lot."

"Yeah?" Geoff's voice softened.

"Yeah," Gwen whispered. This time, she was the first to lean in. Geoff followed her lips. At last, they met in the middle.

Gwen quickly pulled away as if his lips were fire. "Shit, I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to—"

Geoff pressed his lips back on hers. "No, don't be sorry," he breathed, "I liked it. I'd have a hard time telling you no, anyway." He kissed her again fervidly, threading his fingers in her hair.

Gwen held the side of his face. She took his bottom lip between her lips, sucking gently. He held her waist with his other hand, pulling her closer. She let out a blissful sigh.

For that moment, nothing else existed except them. They were in their own universe, and their lips were two planets colliding.

Geoff's hand fell from Gwen's hair to rest on the back of her neck. She started running her hands up and down his chest. He relished in her touch. It felt so good to be this close to someone again.

They both pulled out, panting heavily. Gwen started giggling. "Oh my god, my lipstick got all over your lips!"

"Wait, lemme see!" Geoff said.

"Here, I'll take a picture of you with my flash on since it's dark." Gwen snapped a photo and showed it to Geoff, who cracked up at the sight of dark blue lipstick smeared all over his lips like a messy painting.

"You have to send me that, G," he laughed.

"Oh, I definitely will," Gwen smiled. She texted the picture to Geoff, then awkwardly looked down, conjuring up what she would say next. "Um—so that happened." She rubbed her arm.

"Yeah," Geoff scratched the back of his neck—a nervous habit of his that Gwen had picked up on weeks ago.

"I'm sorry if that was too much," she blurted.

"I didn't think it was," he smiled. "Gwen...I really like you." His face reddened.

Gwen's cheeks turned rosy in return. "I like you too, Geoff. I just—I don't wanna screw things up."

Geoff frowned. "Yeah, I get it. Me neither. I don't know if I can handle something—serious, ya know?" He winced, afraid to hurt her.

"Oh, no, you don't have to explain that!" Gwen shook her head. "I know how hard it must be to start over after that. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

But I do want this, he thought longingly. "Thanks. I'm just afraid. Not that I think you would—"

"Hey," she interrupted softly, "it's ok. I completely understand." He's right to be worried. I'd be the one to hurt him if anything.

To Gwen, Geoff was bright energy—like sunshine, and she didn't want to take that life out of him. Even at his worst, he was still better than her at her best. And she really never wanted him to see her at her worst. Maybe it's better if we stay friends.

"I think it's best if we don't take things too far," said Geoff.

"Yeah, of course," Gwen whispered.

Geoff wanted to gather her in his arms, kiss her more, and not worry about the past or future. But Bridgette left a permanent mark on his trust, heart, and soul. He could've sworn they were soulmates. He still had dreams about her, although they were becoming less and less detailed. No matter how much he tried, he still loved her. But it was love in a different way. Geoff loved the memories and the woman he knew before they broke up. Time made it easier, but he still had a death grip on their lost bond, and he was hanging on by a thread.

"Hey, I had fun tonight," he smiled affectionately at her.

"Me too," Gwen replied.

Geoff let Gwen go down the roof to his neighbor's window first, watching attentively to make sure she was safe and sound before he climbed down. They thanked the neighbor and went downstairs.

When they got near Gwen's truck, Geoff pulled her into his arms. "Drive safe, ok?" He mumbled, his nose against her shoulder.

Gwen felt her entire body relax like she was wrapped up in a heated blanket. "I will. Don't worry."

"Good. Can you text me when you're home?"

"Yeah, sure," she laughed.

"I just wanna make sure you're safe, G." Geoff stepped back, resisting the urge to kiss her on the cheek.

"Thanks," Gwen blushed. "I guess I'll see you at work, then."

"Yeah. See you at work." He waved.

As Gwen drove home, she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Geoff made her so...happy. No, happy was an understatement. When she was with him, her life felt like a completed painting—like he was the last thing she needed to make it whole.

The fact made her want to tell him everything she ever felt for him, but it also made her even more scared to hurt him.

When Gwen got home, she hummed to herself in the shower and while she got dressed. She was so busy thinking of Geoff that she didn't notice the dozens of missed calls from Sierra.

Gwen picked up her phone after wrapping her hair in a towel. "What could she possibly want? It's almost 1:00 am," she muttered irately. She had a few missed texts from her as well. She looked at the time the messages were delivered, and they were from an hour ago.

Sierra: OMG GWEN, PLEASE ANSWER

Sierra: IT'S SERIOUS

Sierra: PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU

Sierra: I WILL NOT GO TO SLEEP UNTIL YOU ANSWER!!

Lying on her bed, Gwen called Sierra back. She answered the phone before it could even finish ringing once. "GWEN. Omg, where have you been?! Were you at work?!"

Gwen jerked the phone back and put her on speaker. "Sierra, you don't have to scream."

"Sorry, I'm just so stressed!" Sierra replied.

"What is it?"

"Gwen...it's really bad. I feel so bad for telling you, but you need to know."

"Well, then tell me!" Gwen snapped impatiently.

Sierra sighed. "There's a—private picture of you on the internet. This anonymous account uploaded it to Instagram."

Eyes widening, Gwen shot straight up from her bed. "What? What's the picture?!"

"Well...it's you with, um—you have an arm over your, um, boobs," Sierra answered. "It's only from above the waist, though! That's the good part. I'm surprised it didn't get taken down yet!"

Gwen's stomach dropped. There was only one person she had sent pictures this intimate to. "—Sierra, how long has that picture been on there? How many people saw it?"

"It's been there for about six hours. Last time I checked, it had, like, 2 million likes."

"What's the account name?!" Gwen asked, scrambling for her laptop.

"Uh—lexter underscore 44," Sierra told her. "I have it written down."

Yep, it's him, Gwen thought as she logged into Instagram. She searched the account, and surely enough, there was the photo under the hashtags: Gwen, totaldrama, sexy, beautiful, goth, n00ds, likeformore, and followformore. The picture now had over 4 million likes.

Gwen saw another picture of her with only her undergarments on. She was lying in bed in a suggestive position. That one had about 3 million likes, and it was from three hours ago.

"Gwen!" Sierra yelled. "Say something! Are you ok?!"

"—Yeah," she answered, voice trembling. "I mean, no. I-I know who did this."

"Who?!"

"The same fuckhead who destroyed my painting. Lexter's his middle name."

Sierra gasped. "Wait—Blake did this?!"

"Yeah." Gwen's eyes stung with tears. "I'm such an idiot for sending those pictures to him." Gwen couldn't count how many pictures she had sent to Blake over nine months of their relationship. She trusted him so much at the beginning. It was like he slowly got worse and worse until she finally caught on and had enough. And now, over a month after their breakup, he was doing this. Hadn't he already had enough revenge?

"Are you gonna report it? I already searched the Toronto law system, and you can report this!" Sierra said.

"Yeah," sighed Gwen. She took a screenshot of Blake's account and the two pictures.

"I have evidence, too, just in case."

"Thanks, Sierra." She shut off her laptop and fell back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. Even though Blake could get in legal trouble, millions of people had already seen the photos. It would never undo that damage.

Gwen had been inside all day—minus her late-night rooftop hangout with Geoff. She wondered if he had seen the pictures. She did the math and realized that he would've been getting ready for work when the first picture came out, and he would've been at work when the second picture was posted. But he could be looking at it right now, she thought fearfully. So many people have seen it.

"Oh yeah..." Sierra began, "it's also on the news."

Fantastic. "Oh, that's just great," Gwen spat. "Now, the whole fucking continent probably knows about it. And the police won't take me seriously because I'm too famous to have these issues! I wish I would've known I'd be famous without the money when I auditioned for Total Drama!"

"I'm so sorry, Gwen. I wish I had seen the pictures before they blew up. I just wanted to make sure you wanted to report them. You never liked when I put things on your art blog without asking!"

"...Sierra, this is a different situation. But that's beside the point. It's too late. People have seen it, and even more people know about it. But hey, it fits perfectly with my boyfriend kisser status!" Gwen said sarcastically. "Now, I'm a full-on slut!"

"Hey," Sierra told her, "we'll get that asshole in trouble. Justice will be served!"

"Justice?" Gwen groaned. "I'm still going to suffer after this. The moment I step back out in public, someone will say something. I wish I could stay inside for, like, a month until this all dies down and another celebrity's in the scandal spotlight."

"Do you wanna report it tonight?" Sierra asked. "I can go with you."

Gwen looked at the time. It was 1:16 am. "Let's do it tomorrow. I'm really tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. My head is killing me now."

"Ok. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest," Sierra told her.

"I will. Thanks." Gwen hung up. She knew she wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight. Out of all the opinions out there, she was most worried about Geoff's. Gwen...I really like you. His words echoed in her mind. Would he still like her after this? Would he even want to associate with her anymore?