If there was one thing life had taught me in the long run, it was that life itself wasn't always sunshine and rainbows.

There may be a few nice moments where strange, mysterious boys with ocean blue eyes would knock into your life, overwhelm you with roses and sunflowers and cute little kittens, but those were just that. Moments. Tiny paper butterflies, torn and then folded. They blew away eventually.

And they took all the happiness with them.

Because then came the bad moments, which weren't really many since all it usually took was one bad circumstance to yank me away from my own safe bubble of happiness.

I'd been rather accustomed to it ever since I was young. I wouldn't say that I remember much about my early childhood--the time when my mother and father were still together and hadn't yet divorced. I didn't remember much from that time because I didn't think anything back then had been worth remembering.

I do however remember moments (good and bad, both) from after my parents divorced and after my dad left our home to go search for a new, better life without my mom and me in it. He'd left me with my mother and that was the first ever bad moment my childhood self could've remembered.

My mom didn't like certain things about me. She didn't like that from an early age, I tended to use both of my hands to write, could write with my left hand just as much as I could write with my right hand, color sheets of papers my uncles brought me on rare occasions with both hands because that was easier. Easier didn't mean normal, though. My mom didn't think half of the things I did were normal. She didn't like that I spent so much time watching that one channel on our old tv where they broadcasted live orchestras from all around the world. She didn't like that I still kept my dad's given violin in my cupboard and played it every time she was out of the house.

My mom disliked a lot of things about me, and whenever she reminded me about them, I placed those memories under the list of all 'bad moments' that had hurt enough to make me remember. One and two and three until I was just as sure as her that I disliked all those things about myself too.

Then came my stepfather Andy with his two kids, Alyssa and Matthew (who was just a baby back then), and that--if not a big one--had still been a good change for me. Andy treated me like his own daughter. Andy never told me that he didn't like certain things about me. Andy was always just...there for me. And even then if my mother pointed out one thing or two that she wanted me to fix about myself, I only just nodded and did it because life was easier now that I had a stepsister, a big sister, with whom I could share anything with.

And then one day Alyssa came home for dinner and she had her new boyfriend with her. That's when I met Michael for the first time. And what followed him were a series of bad moments.

I tried not to think about them. Just like I tried not to think about the time I'd been wasted at a high school party, late at night, and stumbled into a back alley when I'd just been about to throw up only to find my cousin, Fraser, laying dead at the far end. Murdered.

Just like I tried not to think of that time I'd stupidly and willingly embraced danger with open arms and had ended up in a dark, underground cellar for days, had been held captive by those men in white coats who'd asked me things, forced me to tell them things, my name my name my name, with no way out.

Ryder had saved me. His blue eyes had held mine amidst the all consuming darkness around me. He'd held me, I couldn't remember much from there but I remembered that too well, and he'd gotten me out of there. That had been a good moment at least.

But like I said, they never lasted.

Because when I came back to my dorm after the short late night trip with Ryder, smiling and feeling so incredibly happy--actually happy in what felt like ages--the very first thing I noticed was the wilting, almost dead rose on Brooke's side table.

The petals of the Juliet Rose I'd kept there were dry and dead. Fallen and lacking life.

And the second thing I noticed was the voicemail on my phone.

A voicemail from Brooke herself.

•••

"That's the second time I've seen you staring longingly at a violin."

I was highly taken aback by the sudden voice behind me, and I pulled my hand away from the polished burgundy instrument that I'd been seconds away from touching.

It was Professor McAdams who'd caught me on the stage alone with the orchestra seats and the cases sitting below them, each with a violin that had seen its better days. But there was nothing more beautiful than an old violin and the way its owner just knew every ridge and groove of it. Each string and strike of bow.

I swallowed when I noticed he was also smiling warmly, letting me know there was no harm behind his words. I was still caught off guard though because I'd thought I was all alone on the stage and everyone else was in the back room.

Perhaps Professor McAdams had seen me come up here all alone and didn't trust me with the seating arrangements and the musical instruments that belonged to his students.

"I'm sorry." I apologized because I didn't know what else to say. "I just found my way here."

A beat of silence passed by and he smiled--the smile I'd seen him use on all his students--a kind of smile that was warm and a little concerned and maybe even amused. I considered Professor McAdams to be the same age as my real dad would be.

"I see." He nodded and joined me, looking down at the series of violins before us. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a feeling you know your way around one."

"Around one what?"

He pulled out one hand from his cardigan pockets and waved it at the violin before us. It was creamy white, the ivory shade of it so stark against the dark stage.

I opened my mouth to say it, the words ready on my tongue, but I didn't. Mom isn't here, a tiny, scared voice in my head suggested. "I...did. I used to play one, but I wasn't any good. I don't anymore."

Professor McAdams didn't look surprised. "I don't believe that to be true, Alice. I like to think if you're familiar with a violin, one of the most difficult instruments to play, you are good at it no matter what."

Maybe I was good at it. Had it mattered in the end though?

I tore my gaze away and moved it to the stage curtains. "Well, there were times I was good at it." My voice was quiet and cautious, almost as if I was scared somebody else might listen. Even talking about this with Professor McAdams, the music teacher himself, was incredulous and a tad bit scary. "But then I stopped."

"Can I ask why?" He glanced at me, curious.

I stared. One second, two seconds, a whole minute.

"There was this school competition, nothing too big, and I was meant to be there," I told him carefully, slowly. "But I hurt my fingers. They...I cut them on the violin strings."

Professor McAdams was staring at me now. I think I'd said too much.

"I'd been practicing too hard," I added hastily.

He nodded as if he believed me. I didn't think he believed me. "Would you like to play again?"

I laughed softly because his question was absurd. What kind of question was that even?

"No." I shook my head. "I'd hate to play one now."

Professor McAdams looked a tad bit sad but he still smiled. He didn't press on the subject more and I think I liked that a lot about him. "We were discussing something backstage, actually. You weren't there so I thought I might find you to let you know that the volunteers are also invited to come and listen to the Christmas piece the day of the show."

My eyes widened. I hadn't expected that.

"But we're not the participants."

"You are the volunteers, though." He grinned. "There'll be two entry passes given to each volunteer. You can show up with a friend or family member."

That was amazing. It took me a while to realize he wasn't joking and to realize that I could really actually attend a small, if not a big one, orchestra and sit on one of those theater seats and see and hear it like I've always wanted to.

I did still want it, didn't I?

I was a little mixed up in surprise and disbelief, even after I'd walked down from the stage and near the auditorium seats, that I didn't think twice about answering my phone even when I saw that it was my mother calling.

That was exactly why it ended up being a disaster.

"Where are you, Alice?" Mom asked. "What is that noise?"

That noise also happened to be one of the violinists practicing their solo piece a last time before leaving for class.

I stiffened where I was standing and mentally cursed at my utter stupidity.

"It's--"

"Is that what I think it is?" Her voice raised with suspicion. "Alice."

"It's not, it's not!" I blurted out, frantically looking for the back door before pushing past it and hurrying outside in the open, quiet field. "Mom--"

She made a sound of utter disbelief. "I cannot believe you, Alice."

I gripped my phone tight. "Mom, listen--"

"You're back at it, aren't you?" She snapped. "What did you do? Go to that man who you call your father and beg him for that disgraceful toy? I didn't throw away your violin just to let this happen again, Alice!"

I stilled in surprise, shocked at what she was saying. So Mom had willingly given my violin away. Why did that still surprise me?

"This is what you've been doing when you made the excuse of exams to miss out on the camping trip." She hissed. "Your sister wanted you there, she's been calling you, even poor Michael phoned you a hundred times, and you didn't answer to any one of them because of what? Because of your mad insanity for a dumb musical instrument?"

I closed my eyes and thumped my head back against the closed door behind me. "You're not listening to me, Mom."

"I will not!" She sounded angry and disappointed and like she wanted to yell at me for a whole hour. I wanted to claw my hair out, ask her to forgive me, go back inside and pick a violin just to throw it against one wall. "I cannot believe you, Alice. After all this time of me asking you to stop ruining your future, you never listen. You're hell-bent on missing out on family events, missing out on your sister's happiness. You're just like your father."

I flinched.

"Call me," her voice hardened into tiny shards of broken glass. "Call me when you're done being a disgrace."

When she hung up on me, my ears were ringing. I could hear faint music notes coming from inside the theater, but out here it was mostly just silence and misery and disappointment.

You're just like your father. Why did she hate me, my violin, my dad so much? What would happen if I asked her someday, asked her to tell me and explain to me why she couldn't ever see me be happy?

The back door flung open behind me. I flinched again and stepped to the side.

"There you are, Rhodes." It was Nico, shielding his eyes from the sun. "What do you say we ditch the rest of the volunteering, eh?"

I nodded because my tongue was still tied in knots and I didn't know any better.

"Thank fuck." He grabbed my arm and we started walking towards the grounds. "All that music was starting to make me feel like the opera's fucking phantom."

I linked my arm through his and for once he didn't pretend to shove me away. I wanted to cry in relief.

"Isn't that what one of the solos is going to be?" I asked quietly, staring down at the ground and my scuffed pair of converse.

"The Phantom Of The Opera?"

I nodded.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Who cares? What're your plans for Christmas? You staying here for the show?"

I don't know. I didn't know.

•••

If there was one thing Nico and I were absolutely fucking brilliant at, it was getting ourselves utterly shit drunk as partners. We always chose the same bar, always chose the same level of alcoholic shots, and always drank the same number of them.

Tonight I tossed two and a half vodka shots down my throat and so did Nico.

It was pure bliss.

"It's always bros before hoes." Nico hiccupped. "But...what if there's this tiny predicament where your bro is a hoe, huh?"

We were a disaster.

I was in giggles because Nico was such a shit when he was wasted and I hated (and loved) how philosophical he got after just two shots of vodka.

"Wait." Nico perked up and hiccupped, right as the bar music changed to Havana, and shoved the last shot glass away from him. "What's the...verdict on Brooke?"

We'd chosen a rather cosy bar this time. It wasn't heavily crowded and Nico and I seemed to be the youngest ones here.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my head and slurred, "Dunno."

I didn't know and it was the same like with every other impossible aspect of my life. I'd listened to Brooke's voicemail on repeat for hours in my dorm and then in the library. I'd tried to figure out why she'd sounded so monotonous and defeated when she'd been saying those words. I'd tried to understand why--what she'd meant by it.

But I'd come up with nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. It had been a solid dead-end when I'd called her back multiple times, trying to get in touch with her, desperately hoping with an aching heart that she'd just pick up once.

She didn't. Only her dad answered when I called him as a last option, and the only thing he'd told me was that Brooke was gone. She'd left her parent's house without telling them and even they didn't know where she was. They were moments away from reporting to the town police.

Frankly enough, I knew nothing anymore. Not a single thing. Life was a black hole and it was sucking me in.

"I don't know what to do," I told him as I ran a finger over the rim of the glass in front of me, a shockingly yellow drink I'd ordered moments before. There was a sudden commotion at one corner of the bar which was diffused just as quickly when the scarily buff bartender yelled at them to grow the fuck up. "I've been calling her but..."

But nothing.

Nico hummed and swerved around on his barstool until his back was against the counter and his gaze was roaming across the bar.

"The voicemail she left me was scary. She was...she was apologizing but she sounded so...unlike the Brooke I know." I tried to explain it to him. "Her voice sounded dead."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I grimaced at my own words and asked the bartender for more drinks.

"That is odd, isn't it? Who invented voicemails anyway? I'd like to have a chat with that person and ask them why..." He trailed off and blinked, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning back against them. "You said her dad told you she disappeared from her house?"

I nodded and took a big sip of the yellow concoction before me. It didn't even burn anymore. A soft buzz went through me and I slumped against the counter.

"Sucks, is all," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "All I want are things to be fine again and they just keep getting complicated."

"Tell me about it." He muttered.

"What's got you into a mood tonight anyway?" I asked him, nudging him on the shoulder. If my problems seemed unsolvable, that didn't mean others were to go the same path. "The last time you invited me out for drinks was also the time you were stressed about your class presentation."

Nico grumbled something under his breath before speaking, "My fucking father wants me over for a fucking family trip. Family time, he says. I hate fucking family times. It's fucking awkward as fuck. Who even spends Christmas Eve at a lousy fucking restaurant?"

I giggled at every fuck that he'd just said and hiccupped violently. Perhaps this problem was also an unsolvable one. Also, I didn't think this was the right time to tell him that I'd probably give anything for my mother (my real father too, who'd never once contacted me after leaving my mom and me) to have some family time together where there wasn't criticism being thrown at me every minute or so.

"Let's just get wasted for one night and forget all about it." He turned towards the bar once again and glanced at me. "You in, Rhodes?"

I nodded gladly because of course I was. I was so looking forward to forgetting everything for one night. Although to be fair, I hadn't meant that literally.

But life had a sarcastic way of embracing me from behind, and so that's exactly what happened.

Nico somewhat disappeared from beside me in the middle of our second glass of a fruity martini, and the last I saw of him was near the group of girls who seemed to be having a trivia quiz party? He seemed to be having fun even though I knew he'd hate it all in the morning, so I let him be and relaxed against the counter as I popped an olive in my mouth.

Everything was just perfect that way.

All until someone joined me on the empty barstool beside me. I looked over and was the tiniest little bit surprised to find that it wasn't Nico. It was a boy seeming to be my age with dark shorn hair and equally obsidian eyes under the bar lights. And he'd chosen that spot on purpose, I realized belatedly, as his eyes glanced at mine as he ordered a drink.

"I've seen you before." I blurted out as I noticed his dark eyes softly meeting my gaze. I had seen him before, although my drunk-addled brain couldn't figure out where.

He smiled boyishly and I could only stare with the immense drunken haze I was under. His eyes were dark, a shade of brown, I think, but darker than the warm tone of his skin. I was sure I had seen him before somewhere.

"I don't think so." The smile went away as he pulled the pint of beer towards him. His English sounded accented, I noticed. "It would be a shame otherwise."

I raised my brows. "To know me?"

He leaned closer, eyes glinting almost as if sharing a secret no one could know under any circumstance. "To know me and then forget me."

I grinned and so did he--even though his was a little crooked and just a tad bit...sad? I blinked and it was gone.

"I must've seen you at my university." I tilted my head to the side. "You study at Sharlton?"

"Maybe." He raised his beer and clinked it against my almost empty martini glass. "I've seen you at the campus library sometimes."

I tried to rack my brain for a clue or to connect his face with my time spent at the campus library, but came away empty. Fuck, I was too drunk for this.

"I probably wouldn't have a problem remembering a drink or so ago," I replied sheepishly.

He clicked his tongue. "What's the occasion?" He asked, gesturing at the empty shot glasses in front of me on the bar counter.

"Do I need one?"

One corner of his lips tugged upwards rather suggestively. "I guess not."

The rest of the night passed by in a hazy blur, a comforting haze as I chatted rather openly with the quiet and charming stranger who'd decided to accompany me tonight.

It was a change and a good one at that because as long as I could remember, my drunken nights always led to hookups with men who barely gave a shit to what I had to say. Just sex and no talk and never getting to know each other. Not that I ever wanted that, because things would get complicated otherwise.

But still, drunk Alice was an even chattier Alice and this stranger with those dark, clever eyes seemed to want to hear every stupid shit I was spewing out of my mouth.

It was exhilarating and relieving and made it easier to believe that I mattered. At least for this night, I did.

At one point I excused myself to go use the restroom and when I returned he'd bought another drink for me, a fruity one that I almost immediately forgot the name of, but it was a good one and I was having an amazing night, so I let it all disappear amongst the quiet bar music and the bright bar lights.

"So your roommate bought you all those sunflowers?" He asked, frowning in confusion. "But you just said she's been missing for days?"

"Yes...no." I hiccuped and shook my head, which made my head spin in a way that should've been alarming but I didn't have shits to give right then. "Not my roommate, silly. It was him who bought me those sunflowers and that adorable little kitten, who I named Gem by the way because she's just so pretty and cute!"

He laughed shortly and nodded. "Him?"

"Ryder." I rolled my eyes as an afterthought before hiccuping again. "He's just so...he's so difficult to figure out. I can't figure him out. It's weird because." And then I lost train of my thoughts and my words because I was drowsy and dizzy and feeling so damn relaxed in what felt like centuries.

"You seem to like him, hm?" He asked, leaning sideways against the counter.

I blinked and blinked until I noticed that our knees were touching and I wasn't bothering to pull away.

"What?" I asked him because I'd already forgotten what he'd asked me.

He laughed again, that short almost stilted sound, and stood up from his seat. I was left awestruck because he looked not even a little bit drunk--unlike me. He held out a hand towards me and helped me up and out of my seat. The room spun like we were in the middle of a fucking tornado and I held up a finger, not even knowing I was stabbing him in the chest with it until he grabbed it firmly with his other hand.

"I," I slurred and blinked up at him drunkenly, "am so drunk right now. Like this much. This lots of much."

I would've held my hands up in the air to demonstrate how much but he smiled and tugged me towards the doors once he'd placed a wad of cash on the counter. "I can see that. Let's get you out of here, Alice Rhodes."

I hummed in agreement, eyes almost fluttering shut because everything was so dangerously buzzing around me and I was dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. It felt like my skin was burning but it also felt like I was floating. I only just pulled to a sudden stop when we were standing on the empty dark street outside. "Wait. I gotta at least text my friend that I'm leaving."

When I failed to type a decent text to Nico, the stranger who'd turned out to be a nice stranger took my phone and typed it for me. "This'll do?" He asked, turning my phone's screen towards me.

I squinted my eyes and prayed for the words to stop swimming before me. "Done for the...niiight. Letting you know so you don't start searching for me. Oh yeah, that sounds about right."

Once sent, he gave me back my phone and held me back from stumbling into a car that drove by us.

"Hey," I pouted, trying to swallow past the dryness in my throat. "It's not fair that you know my name and I don't get to ask you yours."

His hand trailed down till it circled my left wrist. There was a soft stinging pain as he held on, the same spot where it had been hurting ever since the night of the party Ryder had taken me to. I surprisingly didn't flinch like I would've because I was just too high up in the clouds at that moment.

"You didn't really ask me anything if we're being honest."

Something about the way he said it struck me in the brain somewhere, almost like a muffled warning. I hadn't asked him anything because I'd been the one talking and talking and telling him things...I'd told him so much and he'd listened so earnestly that I honestly couldn't even remember how much exactly I had said.

I'd never chatted so heartily with a stranger before.

I pressed my free hand against my cold cheek. "Is that your way of telling me that I speak a lot?"

He smiled and a chill ran down my spine. He leaned down to my eye level, reaching out and tapping softly against my left temple. I winced softly and my eyelids fluttered. "No. That's my way of saying I would like to repay the favor."

I gasped and it took an effort to open my eyes again. "Twenty questions?"

He stared at me, tilting his head to the side as if examining me. I shuffled on my feet, nearly stumbling into the pole behind me.

"Twenty questions, it is then." He agreed.

I laughed and nodded as he continued dragging me towards the many hotel buildings surrounding the bars and nightclubs behind us.

"And it's Santiago." He added almost as an afterthought, his voice breezy and soft, knowing and secretive. "You can call me Santi."

------
and that is why kids you should never let pretty strangers with mysterious smiles buy you fruity drinks.