Getting to know KozmicKookieDxD:

Hi, I'm Kozmo aka @KozmicKookieDxD! I'm a hermit designer and aesthete who spends most of her time daydreaming about new stories, studying and eating. I love astrology, mochi ice cream, horror movies and anime!

- - - - - - - - - -

I never liked receiving Christmas gifts. Probably because the last real gift I ever got was an open bottle of Jack Daniels. Thanks, mommy.

So, this year, I decided to give myself a present. The present of hustling stupid people at the bar.

"That'll be a hundred bucks," I said after sinking the eight-ball into a corner pocket.

The loser narrowed his eyes, slamming his fists on the pool table. This caused all the remaining pool balls—his balls—to ricochet all over the table.

Bar patrons eyed us, but most went back to drinking, expressions somber. The holidays didn't make everyone happy apparently.

The loser wiped his greasy hair out of his face. "I ain't paying you squat. You cheated."

My hip leaned against the table, the cue stick hitting the ground with a thump. "No, I didn't. You just thought pretty o'l me—" I said faking a southern accent. "—couldn't play, and I wiped the floor with your chauvinistic ass. You lost, dude."

Eyes darkening, his cheeks puffed out like an angry pufferfish. "I ain't lose to some chick."

Tossing my midnight curls behind my back, I rolled my eyes, holding out my hand. "You lost. Pay up or you're gonna pay."

He stalked over to me, slamming his whisky glass on the ground. "Oh, really?"

Before he could reach me, the bartender Charlie barreled over from behind the bar, picking the guy up by his shirt. "Pay her and leave."

Intense fear entered the loser's face, feet dangling off the ground. "Umm alright."

Charlie dropped the man who threw several bills on the floor before glaring at me and running out the door.

"This is your last time hustling people," Charlie said, walking behind the bar again as I picked up my money. Crap, it was only sixty here. Cheap bastard.

Pocketing the cash, I followed Charlie over to the bar, sitting across from him on the tattered bar stool. "You always say that."

He furrowed his brows while wiping off the counter. "I need to start doing it. You shouldn't even be in here miss seventeen."

I pouted, blinking my eyes. "I know, but you love me."

He popped me in the head with the bar towel. "I do."

Charlie was co-owner of the bar, and we've been best friends for years. He was also dating my good friend Ron, who should be arriving any minute now.

"Plus, I have to stay. I really don't want to run into my mother," I said with a sigh. She was probably out now, doing her session at the strip-club before coming back home to drink herself into a coma—hopefully alone.

Charlie leaned on the wooden bar. "You know I'm just kidding. You're always welcome here." He gave me serious eyes. "But you do really need to stop hustling people. It can't end well."

I wiped some non-existent dust off my shoulder. "It's not like I cheat. You know I'm the best."

He chuckled. "You are." His eyes went over to the old pool table. "I remember our dads teaching us together when we were younger."

Just the thought of my dad sent shivers of pain through my chest, constricting my breathing for a second. I missed him so much. Even though my mother was just a one-night stand, he never skimped on showing how much he loved me.

He was such an amazing man. So great and cultured. Never have I met someone who loved so many different things. From art to fishing to billiards, and he worked as an astronomer.

That's the one thing I will forever remember—how he made me love the stars.

My nails fingered the cosmic-star bracelet dangling on my wrist. "Yeah...those were um good times."

Charlie patted my hand, holding it for a second. "Are you going to go this year? Fulfill the promise?"

"No."

He gave me a look simmering with disbelief and sadness. "You really should do it—go. It's been on your bucket list for years now."

A few years back, Charlie and I created the JBIAAAL—the Just Because I'm Awesome and Alive—Bucket List. Just a yearly list of things we wanted to accomplish every year.

Every year since my dad passed away, I've always put on my list that I wanted to visit Death Cherry, a beautiful state park that was five states away.

My dad said that it was the best star-gazing site in the world, and he wanted to take me. He always promised to take me, but he died before he could. And the night he died, I had a dream—a dream of him telling me to go and I promised I would.

But four years later, I still never went. A big part of me wanted to go, but something always held me back.

"Maybe next year," I said, feeling my phone vibrate. A text from Ron.

You home?

At the bar. Why?

Some jerk spilled alcohol on me on the train. Need a new shirt. Get one for me?

Alright.

Thanks. Love you. Be there in 20.

"Gotta get Ron a shirt," I said, getting up. "Someone spilled something on him."

My apartment building was only a few blocks away from the bar, so it wasn't much of a hassle.

"Okay. Be safe," Charlie said, before going to serve some customers.

Slinging through the drunken bodies and loud voices, the crisp city air hit me when I walked out of the bar. Old, crusty buildings lined the street, streetlights casting an orange glow on the ice-slicked sidewalks.

I didn't live in the best part of town, but it was cheap. The stone apartment building came into my view, and I ran up the steps and through the lobby before hopping onto the rickety elevator.

The stench of dirty panties, stale vodka and dusty wallpaper brushed my nostrils when I opened my front door. Dozens of stripper heels and old alcohol bottles littered the chipped wooden floor, and I kicked them out of my way, trying to get to my room.

Ron always kept clothes at my house, so I went to my bottom drawer, pulling out one of his tees.

An old picture of my dad and me behind a telescope caught my attention. I tried to smile at the happy memory, but only sadness cloaked my heart.

Even four years later, the hurt and the pain still never dimmed or escaped my body.

He loved everything about the holidays, which made this time of year even harder for me.

Sucking back my tears, I left the apartment, closing the door behind me. I made it off the elevator and was about to exit the lobby when four people blocked my path.

The loser from earlier grinned, three girls flanking behind him.

"You cheated my man out of his money," some girl said, popping her knuckles. "You're gonna pay." She charged at me with her fist out.

I ducked down but not before landing one in her side.

Living where I did, learning to fight was essential.

The girl moaned and stumbled back onto the floor. The other two girls jumped on me, flinging punches, but I never dropped. Never fall, it could be your death.

A series of punches and scratches lit up my body, but I kept throwing and landing my own, feeling my adrenaline surge to its highest point.

I screamed as we fought, tumbling around between the three girls. Until a couple of guys coming off the elevator ran over to break it up.

They all ran away, and I dropped to my knees.

"You okay?" one of the guys asked.

Blood trickled down from my busted lip as agony radiated through my scalp and left eye. "Yeah. I'm just gonna go home," I said, making it back onto the elevator.

The front door was as far as I made it, sitting with my back against the wall. My eyes gazed down at the bracelet my father gave me as tears cascaded down my face.

I needed him so bad right now. I hated living here. Charlie was right. Hustling did come back to bite me, but I needed the money. My mother barely kept us afloat.

Everything in me missed him. I wanted to hug him again. See his smile. Listen to him ramble off some random fact that no one else knew but him.

"Go to Death Cherry," his voice said in my head.

I usually ignored his words, but my heart listened this time. What have I got to lose? I was miserable here. Why not go to a place where I can feel close to him one more time? Be happy one more time.

Plus, I promised.

Getting up, I stumbled into my room, picking up the old picture of us.

"Death Cherry, next year," it read on the back.

He wanted me to go and I would.