Borderline

The rest of the weekend passed agonizingly slowly. A few bright spots rose through the muck—notably the hour or so Sour Sweet spent playing a board game with Dad and Saccharine. There were laughs and smiles, though none of them felt real. Sour Sweet was far away, as if watching through frosted glass while someone in her guise spent time with her family. Soon enough it ended, and she returned to the bedroom to fade back into the gray haze.

All too soon, Monday came, and school along with it. Dad offered to drive her, but Sour Sweet politely declined like a good daughter should, opting to walk so as to not waste his time. It wasn't until she'd made it half a dozen blocks towards Crystal Prep that she realized she'd forgotten breakfast, but she wasn't really hungry anyway. No harm done.

As she got closer to school, dread crept up alongside her. She'd probably see the girls at some point during the day, even if it was just passing in the halls. What was she supposed to say to them, after what they'd done? And that wasn't even mentioning what they hadn't done. Dean Cadance had said they were concerned about her, but if that was true, wouldn't Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare have checked on her over the weekend? They had her dad's home phone, along with his address, but they never came to see if she was okay.

Of course they didn't. They want me out of their lives.

Sparks of tired, bitter anger peeked out from behind the curtains of the haze that had smothered Sour Sweet since the weekend, but only for a moment. As Crystal Prep came into view around the corner, she pushed the feeling away as best she could.

Classes were normal enough in the morning—lectures, videos, a quiz Sour Sweet had forgotten to study for, and a number of other things she didn't care about. It all blurred together, anyway—regardless of what was being discussed or presented, all Sour Sweet could think about were the girls, what they might say if they saw her, and whether there was anything she could do to make up for the things she'd done to make them hate her in the first place.

When lunch hour arrived, Sour Sweet found she still wasn't hungry. But, as she trudged into the cafeteria, a sudden rush of anxiety surged through her. The world slowed, her eyes widened, and anger burned so hot in her chest that it hurt to breathe.

Across the cafeteria, Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare stood by a set of double doors while Dean Cadance talked to them.

They're talking about me.

In seconds, anger turned to terror. What was the dean saying about her? Obviously something about her meeting with Sour Sweet on Friday, but which part?

Mom. She must be telling them about Mom. What if she tells someone else? What if she tries to get Mom in trouble?

No, that… But Cadance said she wasn't going to share anything with anyone, right? Had she really lied so blatantly to Sour Sweet's face?

And I was stupid enough to fall for it. She's talking to the girls, of course she'll talk to someone else, she'll try to get Mom in trouble and Mom will think it's my fault and she'll—

Peeling out of the lunch line, Sour Sweet made a beeline for the girls, just as Cadance left through the double doors. A second later, Sunny Flare was the first to spot her approaching, and her face lit up with a big smile as she waved at her from across the room.

What?

Sour Sweet stopped in her tracks, only for Sugarcoat to turn and wave too, beckoning her over. The fear that had driven her steps just moments prior now fought to keep her still, but she couldn't risk upsetting the girls any more than she already had.

Sunny Flare kept smiling, and Sugarcoat hadn't rolled her eyes yet, not even when Sour Sweet meekly stepped up beside them. Instead, Sunny Flare pulled her into a hug. "It's so good to see you!" she said happily. Sugarcoat nodded in agreement.

Is this a trick?

"What, uhm…" Sour Sweet looked away as fear and confusion twisted into a knot in her throat. "What was Dean Cadance talking to you about?"

"She was just, y'know, letting us know you were okay," Sugarcoat said. "She said she couldn't share any details, but—"

Liar. She has to be lying.

"Sure she did," Sour Sweet snapped, rolling her eyes at Sugarcoat for once. "She cares so much about privacy, right? That's why she blabbed to you about everything?"

Sunny Flare put a hand on her shoulder, but Sour Sweet pulled away. "Sour Sweet, hey, calm down. She means it, okay? Cadance didn't tell us anything, and we didn't ask. She just told us you were okay, and that it'd be good to, y'know…" She shrugged. "Let you know we care, I guess?"

That… No, that can't be right. That's not true, she's lying!

Sugarcoat adjusted her glasses and nodded. "We were worried when you didn't respond to the invite I sent. Or, Sunny Flare was worried. I knew it was no big deal." She rolled her eyes… at Sunny Flare. "Honestly, Sunny, you're so dramatic sometimes."

Sour Sweet's heart hammered in her chest. None of this made any sense. Both of these girls hated her, didn't they? All the proof was there—

"It's not dramatic to care about my friend," Sunny Flare said, frowning.

Friend—?

"Hey, Sour Sweet?" Sunny Flare was suddenly staring at her. "You okay?"

Tears streamed down Sour Sweet's face. Her first attempt to speak left her as a weak cry, so she held her breath stiffly for a few seconds, wiped her eyes, and exhaled slowly.

They're giving me another chance…

"I-I'm okay," she said. "Sorry—"

"Don't apologize, it's fine," Sugarcoat said. "So you're crying your eyes out during lunch, who cares? We've all done it."

"Speak for yourself," Sunny Flare said.

"Whatever." Sugarcoat rolled her eyes.

They're giving me another chance!

"You two are the best!" Sour Sweet clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, you said something about an invite?" she asked, a smile pulling at her face. "I knew you'd figure something out for spring break!"

Whatever it is, I have to go along with it and do it right.

"Uh, yeah, we figured something out," Sunny Flare said. "We asked around and got enough people together for a party on Saturday, at Sugarcoat's place."

Sugarcoat smirked. "My parents are gonna be out of town. It's too perfect." She looked at Sour Sweet expectantly. "Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" Sour Sweet said. "Lemme know the time and I'll be there with bells on!"

Sugarcoat raised an eyebrow. "I already did. Check your phone."

"O-oh, right." Sour Sweet's joy melted into shame. "Sorry, I—I'll keep my phone on, I promise."

"It's fine, really." Sugarcoat rolled her eyes.

Stop apologizing, it'll just make them mad at me again!

"R-right." Sour Sweet nodded sheepishly. "No sorries."

Sunny Flare shot her a grin. "'Atta girl."

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, but everything felt a little lighter than before. Sour Sweet finally turned her phone back on, got the time for the party, and spent her lunch breaks smiling and laughing with her friends. Her evenings were split between trying to catch up on all the assignments she'd stupidly blown off over the weekend, and spending as much time with Saccharine as possible to make up for being such an awful bitch to her the week before. Between playing some of Saccharine's favorite games, taking her to the park, and baking cookies together to surprise Dad, hopefully Sour Sweet had done enough to earn her way back into her sister's good graces.

The night before the party, Sour Sweet lay in her bed, dreaming of all the goodness that could come of this weekend. This was her second chance, her big opportunity to do right by her friends, and make a good impression on everyone else there as well. Maybe she'd even make new friends! Friends who would invite her to more parties, where she could meet more people and… and…

I need to get this right.

No matter what, Sour Sweet knew she couldn't let that voice in her head screw up the second chance her friends had so graciously given her. She had to be in control, to stay in control. She couldn't let whatever sickness made her the way she was keep ruining her life—or, more importantly, the lives of those around her.

The more she thought about it, the more the solution seemed obvious—just stop being so damn combative. All too often, Sour Sweet would snap at someone trying to be nice to her, often because she'd assumed the worst of them without good reason. And every time she did, the interaction would end with her kicking herself for being such an awful bitch.

It was an easy fix, then. Just be nice. Be agreeable. Assume the best of others, and surely they'd assume the best of her.

Saturday came, and she spent the morning following the group chat with her friends as they planned the details of party—something Sugarcoat admitted they should've done way sooner. Sunny Flare was ordering pizzas, splitting the cost with another girl she knew who wasn't in the group chat with them. Sugarcoat's dad apparently had some cool surround sound setup, and of course she insisted on choosing what went on the music playlist for the night—Sour Sweet couldn't help giggling to herself when she'd scrolled through a short, silly argument between Sugarcoat and Lemon Zest about who had the better taste in music. Indigo Zap had also invited her boyfriend, who then invited a bunch of his friends as well, expanding the number of partygoers to something like thirty.

Sugarcoat was definitely going to have her hands full cleaning up after such a big party. Sour Sweet resolved to be a good friend and offer to help, hoping that would make up for her not bringing anything herself.

Midday passed and turned to afternoon. Sour Sweet spent longer than she probably should have showering, putting on makeup, brushing her hair, choosing an outfit… It all had to be perfect. She eventually settled on what to wear: black leggings—black went with everything, Mom had told her once—matched with gold-striped shoes and a soft pink tank top. She completed the ensemble with a thin black jacket Dad had bought for her earlier in the year. The tank top was probably a little more low-cut and form-fitting than it needed to be for a party with friends—certainly Mom would never approve—but the girls wouldn't mind. Besides, it wasn't half as revealing as some of the stuff she knew Sunny Flare owned, and honestly, it was nice to feel pretty. In some small way, feeling pretty was like feeling confident, and Sour Sweet needed all the confidence she could get.

With just enough time to spare, she asked Dad for the car keys, promised to be safe, and gave Saccharine a quick hug. The drive to Sugarcoat's house was a short one, but just long enough for Sour Sweet to remind herself one last time.

I can't fuck this up. I can't. They won't give me another chance.

Be nice. Be agreeable. No mistakes, no matter what.

As soon as she arrived, Sour Sweet decided that big parties sucked.

Sugarcoat's house was big—her parents had "more money than God," Sunny Flare had quipped—but it wasn't big enough. The main floor, with as many rooms as it had, was still far too crowded for Sour Sweet's liking, and the upper floor was off-limits, Sugarcoat had said. That meant that getting anywhere required bumping into at least a few people in any given doorway, assuming Sour Sweet could even find where she was going. Being in a crowd was bad enough—being a short person in a crowd was even worse. More than once, she wished she'd worn platforms or heels, miserable as they were, if only so she could see more than a few feet in any given direction.

It didn't help that seemingly everyone she passed was already in conversation with at least one other person. Only Sour Sweet stood out, drifting from room to room in search of a person or group that would make room for her, straining to hear familiar voices beneath the loud blare of party music.

Relief flooded through her when she finally found one of her friends. Sunny Flare, clad in a bright blue dress, sat on a wide couch in what Sour Sweet could only assume was some kind of home theater, being chatted up by some guy Sour Sweet didn't know. The rest of the room was dotted with a few other partygoers in their own conversations, some of whom she'd seen at school, with others being strangers.

I'm the only one by myself.

This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake. She didn't know anyone here, she couldn't introduce herself if it meant interrupting someone, she didn't belong here, nobody wanted her here—

"Hey, you made it!" Sunny Flare called to her from across the room. "Come sit down, this couch is crazy comfy."

Even as fear swelled all around her, Sour Sweet smiled and made her way over. That fear was lying to her, that's all it was. She was fine—this was all fine.

Be nice. Be agreeable. Stay in control.

"Sunny, hi!" Sour Sweet squeezed in between her friend and the arm of the couch, pulling Sunny Flare into a big hug. "We made it! Spring break, baby!"

Smile. Stay excited. Be like Saccharine, everyone likes Saccharine.

From across the couch, the boy who'd been talking to Sunny Flare leaned over and waved. "Hey, don't think we've met," he said. "Name's—"

"I'm Sour Sweet!" Sour Sweet said, grinning broadly.

"—Steel String," the boy finished. "Nice to meet you."

Not so much, idiot!

"R-right," Sour Sweet said quietly. "Nice to meet you too."

"Yeah, I was just telling Sunny here about my band. It's just me and my buddy, but we've already lined up to play some major shows. My dad got us in for this thing at his office, like a fundraiser party or whatever. It's gonna be packed." He smirked, giving Sour Sweet an unsubtle stare. "Enough about me though, you just get here? I can go get you a drink or something."

Be nice. Be agreeable.

"Yeah, uhm—"

Before Sour Sweet finish, Sunny Flare grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her up along with her. "Actually we were just leaving."

Steel String blinked. "You, uh, you sure?"

"Yep. Later." Sunny Flare gave a half-hearted wave before dragging Sour Sweet out of the room.

She's mad, did I make her mad—?

"Thank God you showed up when you did," Sunny Flare said, pushing her way through the crowd with Sour Sweet in tow. "He would not shut up about his stupid guitar." She sighed, placing her hands on Sour Sweet's shoulders. "Anyway, sorry about that. You okay?"

Stay in control. Don't let the bad thoughts win.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine, thank you!" Sour Sweet nodded enthusiastically. "Are you okay? I-I'm sorry if I upset you, I—"

"No, it's not you, I promise. I just can't stand creeps like that." Sunny Flare shook her head, groaning. "I swear, half the guys here only showed up hoping to get laid."

Unsure of what to say, Sour Sweet just nodded again, but it felt wrong. Had he really been a creep? Wasn't she supposed to assume the best of others? How was she supposed to make new friends if she thought everyone she didn't know was creepy—?

"I shouldn't be complaining. You'll have it worse than me tonight," Sunny Flare said, gesturing down at Sour Sweet's clothes. "Don't get me wrong, that outfit's adorable. Just be careful, and don't be surprised if you catch more than a few stares tonight."

Again, Sour Sweet didn't know what to say. "I-I, uhm, I'm glad you like it?"

"More power to you though, right? Wear what you want, who cares what other people think?" With a stretch and a sigh, Sunny Flare glanced around the room. "Anyway, I wanna go get a drink, and see if I can find Sugarcoat or Zest—this music sucks." She held her hand out to Sour Sweet. "Wanna come with?"

She wants me to stay with her!

Sour Sweet perked up immediately. Taking Sunny Flare's hand, she said, "Sure, lead the way!"

The party only picked up in scale the longer Sour Sweet was there. Groups of three or four people huddled in every corner of the house, chatting and laughing. For her part, Sour Sweet stayed with Sunny Flare, as well as Sugarcoat once they'd found her at the center of the brief frenzy that ensued when the pizza arrived. Sour Sweet chose to stay out of it, not being hungry anyway.

From there, the three of them moved to a living room adjacent to the kitchen. Sugarcoat mentioned offhand that it was the smaller of the house's two living rooms, but Sour Sweet couldn't help but notice that it was bigger than all the rooms in Dad's house by far. Large or small, though, it had settled into the closest thing the party had to a quiet room. For the next hour, while people came and went, and the music cycled from song to song, Sour Sweet sat beside her closest friends in the world, a wide smile across her face the whole time.

"So like, finally I just told Zest if she wanted to pick the playlist, she should've hosted the party herself." Sugarcoat took a sip from the plastic cup she'd filled with a mix of three different sodas. "It's fine though, honestly. She's allowed to listen to shit music, I don't mind—so long as it's on her own speakers."

Sour Sweet giggled, loudly enough to be sure Sugarcoat could hear her over the noise filtering in from the rest of the house.

Laugh at her jokes, make sure she knows I'm listening.

Sunny Flare smirked. "Maybe sort that out before the party, next time," she said, before finishing off her own soda.

"Whatever," Sugarcoat said, rolling her eyes.

She's not mad at me. She's not. Stay in control.

"So Sour Sweet," she asked, "what've you got going on the rest of the break?"

Be nice, be friendly.

"Nothing special," Sour Sweet said. "Dad wants to take Saccharine to the lake at some point, he hasn't settled on a day yet though." She smiled brightly. "Why, did you wanna hang out or something? I'm free tomorrow!"

Sugarcoat shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm definitely gonna be up late tonight cleaning."

"Yeah, and I'm definitely gonna sleep in past noon tomorrow." Sunny Flare nodded in turn.

What if they have plans without me?

"Y-you sure? I could always—"

"Pretty sure," Sugarcoat said, rolling her eyes.

Don't be so insistent, idiot!

Sour Sweet scrambled to fix her mistake. "Sorry, I-I uhm… I could help clean up if you want! It's no trouble at all, I meant to offer earlier anyway!"

Be agreeable.

When Sugarcoat didn't respond after a pause, Sour Sweet spoke up again, her voice wavering. "Uh, h-hey! How about I go get you girls refills, huh?" She quickly got up. "Sunny, you had root beer, and Sugarcoat, you had a bit of everything?"

Be nice. Be helpful.

Sugarcoat finally shrugged before finishing off her soda and handing her cup to Sour Sweet.

Make myself useful.

"Yeah, thanks…" Sunny Flare eyed Sour Sweet as she passed her cup over. "You okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine!" Sour Sweet laughed—stay in control, don't let it out—even as her heart hammered in her chest. "I'll be right back, okay? Promise!"

Sunny Flare looked concerned—angry—but didn't press further. Sour Sweet took the opportunity to make an exit before she fucked things up even more.

Stupid fucking useless idiot, trying to take up even more of their time. I'm already on thin ice!

Sour Sweet stumbled through the giant house, already lost in the crowd, which seemed to have grown even larger. Panic gripped her throat like a vice, and her breathing came faster as she squeezed through gaps between groups of people, making her way blindly. Which way was the kitchen again? She hadn't been paying attention well enough, she could hardly see anything with so many people, she didn't mean to mess up again, she just wanted to be good to her friends, friends who she'd wronged again just after they'd given her another chance, friends she never deserved in the first place, friends who were probably—probably wishing I'd just leave and never come back—!

Like the clumsy idiot she was, Sour Sweet tripped and fell. The plastic cups she'd been holding clattered on the hardwood, spilling melting ice all over.

No no no no no no…

"You okay?"

Sour Sweet looked up, tears burning in her eyes, to see a boy holding out his hand. She took it, wobbling as he helped her stand.

"There we go, on your feet," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"S-sorry, I'm sorry," Sour Sweet stammered. In her periphery, she could see a few other partygoers looking her way, watching her cry in the middle of the room like a stupid child. "I—I'm okay, sorry…"

"Hey, no worries," he said. "No one got hurt, so no big deal."

Stay in control. Don't let it out, don't let it out, don't let it out—

Her vision blurred and her breaths grew tighter. "Th-the ice, I—my friends, they wanted me to—"

The boy raised an eyebrow. "It's just some ice."

Just keep it together for once, idiot!

Sour Sweet wanted to reply, to scream at him the magnitude of her failure, but she couldn't. Her words collapsed into sobs as the world, and the last of her friendships, came crashing down around her.

They never should have trusted me.

"Woah, okay. Let's find you a chair." With an arm around her waist, the boy gently guided her out of the room. "And could someone clean that up, please?" he said to all the people staring at her. "Slipping hazard or whatever."

They gave me another chance and I ruined it, like I ruin everything!

"Here, found a good spot." The boy led her to a pair of chairs in the corner of a familiar room—the theater room, she realized. She gratefully slumped into the chair, still crying like an idiot.

They're better off without me. They're too nice to say it, but it's true.

"So, uhh… Can I get you anything? Water? Tissues, maybe?"

"Huh?" Sour Sweet sniffed and wiped her eyes, even as tears still streamed down her cheeks. "O-oh. No, thank you," she said stiffly.

Don't make him put up with me longer than he has to.

"If you say so," he replied. "Oh, I'm Tenor, by the way. Didn't have a chance to say with all the, y'know. The stuff." He looked her way, and kept looking at her.

He wants me to say something.

"Sorry for making such a scene," Sour Sweet said quietly.

"No worries," Tenor said. "Besides, that's one hell of a way to make an entrance."

Is he making fun of me…?

"Whatever." Sour Sweet crossed her arms, frowning. "I'm fine. You can leave now."

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

"Trust me," Sour Sweet said, "it'll save you some trouble."

"How do you mean?"

Sour Sweet glared at him, only to find him staring right back. "What are you, my fucking therapist?"

"Nah," he said, smirking. "But I bet whoever is has their work cut out for them."

Sour Sweet wanted to snap at him again, but his point was hard to argue.

No amount of therapy can fix me.

Tenor stretched and sat back in his chair. "You still haven't told me your name."

She gave him a quick glance. "Sour Sweet."

"That's a cute name," he said. "More sour than sweet today, huh?"

At that, she sighed. "Every day, seems like." After a pause, she added, "Sorry for being such a bitch."

Shrugging, Tenor said, "You're allowed to be a bitch when you're having a bad day."

"B-but I'm—I'm always like this!" The words suddenly came spilling out, and Sour Sweet was powerless to stop them. "No matter what I do, I just—just fuck everything up, and everyone ends up hating me, and they should!"

He stared at her for a long moment. "I dunno. You seem pretty cool to me."

"That's only because you don't know me," Sour Sweet said stiffly.

"Tell you what," Tenor said, standing up. "I'm gonna go get us some drinks, you can tell me a bit about yourself, and then I'll decide how much of a bitch you are."

Sour Sweet rubbed at her eyes, staring at the floor again. Hadn't Sunny Flare told her to be careful? That half the guys here were creeps? She'd been trying to look out for her friend, hadn't she?

But Sunny Flare's not my friend anymore.

All at once, bitter anger settled in her limbs. Why should she listen to Sunny Flare, anyway? Tenor had been nice to her so far, and besides, wasn't this also what she'd hoped for when she came here tonight? Making new friends?

Fuck it.

"Yeah, sure," Sour Sweet said, smiling as best she could. "Just water, please."

"Water, you got it, Tenor said. He left the room, returning a minute later with ice water for her. "Try not to drop this one." She took it, and laughed. It even felt real.

For the next hour or so, the two of them sat in the corner of the theater room, talking quietly as dozens of other partygoers came and went. He told her about his music—apparently he played piano and worked on weekends as a teacher for kids. She told him about Saccharine, about her dad's work… anything but talking about herself. Eventually, though, he breached the subject, and to Sour Sweet's surprise, talking about what a miserable bitch she was came easily to her, at least when talking to a stranger.

Awful to her friends, awful to her family—even her little sister. Ungrateful, spiteful brat who would rather hide in the room her dad provided for her than speak to him. Always moping, always selfish, always surprising herself with so many new ways to upset the people who cared about her, to the point where they didn't even want her around anymore. And who could blame them, when she acted so horribly? She deserved to be alone. She deserved to feel bad.

Through it all, Tenor listened in silence. He never looked away, even when she did. For the first time in years, Sour Sweet felt like someone was really listening to her—and, just as amazingly, like she really wanted to be heard.

When her shameful ranting finally petered out, Tenor clapped his hands together. "Alright, I've decided," he said, as if he were declaring a verdict. "You, Sour Sweet, are—drum roll, please." He paused, then gestured to her. "I'm serious, drum roll. You gotta do it or I can't finish."

She laughed, and beat out the best drum roll she could on the arm of her chair.

"Ahem. You, Sour Sweet, are… not such a horrible bitch after all." He took her hand and shook it intensely. "Congratulations, really. I'm so proud of you."

Sour Sweet laughed again, harder than she had in… she wasn't even sure how long. Was this what normal friendship was like? It was so easy. She sat up, still giggling. "Thank you," she said, bowing as best she could while sitting. "Truly, my greatest achievement."

"Seriously though," he said. "You don't sound like an awful person—just a girl who's used to people being too hard on her."

Then, he scooted his chair a little closer to hers and put his arm around her.

Sour Sweet's whole body stiffened, if only for a moment. She looked up at him, and he looked back, smiling. "This okay?" he asked.

Is it okay…?

She exhaled softly. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."

Be nice. Be agreeable.

Slowly, Sour Sweet leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears, but she didn't move away.

Stay in control.

He sighed, and she did, too. The longer he held her like that, the more Sour Sweet realized it was actually kinda nice.

"Are you always so nice to strangers?" she asked.

"Not as often as I should be," Tenor replied. "But I make an exception for pretty girls in distress."

Smile and laugh.

Sour Sweet laughed quietly, and pressed against him a little more. "I'm sure all the pretty girls appreciate it."

"You'd know better than me," he said, and tension coiled around her throat.

Be friendly. Keep him happy.

She swallowed thickly. He pulled her a little closer, and she held his hand with her own. She looked up at him, only to find him already looking at her—at her eyes, her face, and lower.

He smiled at her. "So," he asked, his voice dropping lower, "wanna find someplace more private to talk?"

Sour Sweet held her breath. She was stupid, but she wasn't too stupid to know what he meant—what he wanted. Did she want it too? Did that even matter? Was it safe to say yes, was it dangerous to say no?

Do I even care?

Dad made her promise to be safe. Sunny Flare warned her to be careful. Sour Sweet felt her muscles tense as she realized, why the fuck should she listen to either of them, anyway? Sunny Flare was sick of her, and Dad already replaced her with a better daughter. They didn't care about her, so why should she care about what they said? She looked up at Tenor again, waiting patiently for her answer.

Be agreeable.

She nodded, and he stood, still holding her by the hand. He led her out of the theater room, to a second staircase in the back of the house. A quick look around showed no one was watching, so she followed him up the stairs to the second floor, across a hall, and waited while he checked door by door until he found a bedroom. He pulled her in, closed the door, locked it, and then there was no one else. Just him, Sour Sweet, and the gray haze creeping in from everywhere to smother the fear trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Not even a second later, he was on her. His hands were on her, his lips were on hers. Sour Sweet had never kissed anyone before—just like that, something that should have been so memorable was over, and he kissed her again. The stubble of his facial hair prickled her lips, and his hands found her shoulders again. He closed in on her, his eyes meeting hers, but he stopped.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

Don't give him a reason to hate me.

Sour Sweet nodded, smiling at him. It didn't feel real, but it must have looked real, because he kissed her again right after. As he did, the haze crept in like a slowly rising tide, easing the anxious surges in her chest a little more with each passing moment.

He grinned, and stood. Both of them kicked off their shoes, and seconds later his shirt was off too. Then his hands were on her again, guiding her arms out of her jacket. The room was warm, but Sour Sweet still shivered at its loss.

With his hands on her waist, Tenor guided her backwards until she fell onto the bed. Then he was on her again, one hand tracing along the curve of her hip while another dipped just barely beneath the hem of her tank top. He looked down at her with a look on his face that she couldn't quite describe, and said, "You're a fucking bombshell, y'know that?"

What was she supposed to say to that?

Whatever he wants me to.

Sour Sweet didn't know what that was, so instead she kissed him, this time because she chose to. It felt awful, and when he kissed her back, the gray haze sank in a little more.

A hand slipped beneath her top, pulling it up and exposing her skin. Moments later, he was leading her to sit up, then pulling the top off her entirely. She sat still as he did, nor did she move when he reached around her to find the clasp of her bra and pull it apart. The feeling of being stripped bare as he pulled her bra away should have terrified her, but the haze clouded her mind. It pushed her away from herself, slowing her thoughts, and she watched from a distance as he played with the girl who looked like her.

It was like that for a while. The girl on the bed lay there, not making a sound, as he played with her breasts. Light squeezing gave way to fondling and rubbing, which gave way to pinching and kissing. Little sparks of pleasure fluttered between her legs, and Sour Sweet felt them even through the haze. But when his hand reached lower, brushing along the top of her leggings, the haze parted, if only for a moment. Her chest tightened, her breaths came sharper, and adrenaline pooled and writhed in her gut, urging her to get away, to run, to shout or scream—but the girl on the bed remained silent.

Tenor found her gaze. "Hey, are you sure you're alright?" he asked. "It's okay to say no."

But it isn't.

The girl who looked like Sour Sweet smiled sweetly. "I'm sure," she said, without a trace of doubt or fear.

I already lost two friends tonight. I can't lose another.

He watched the girl for a moment, and Sour Sweet did too, from her place far away from her body. Dull, distant calm hung over her as the girl who looked like her stared at the ceiling, and Tenor slipped his fingers beneath her leggings. This time the haze didn't part, or even thin. Sour Sweet felt nothing as her hips raised slightly, allowing him to pull her leggings off and toss them aside.

Her inner thigh felt his touch, and the haze flickered. For milliseconds at a time, Sour Sweet was back in her body, feeling everything, only to vanish into the haze again. Even still, she was silent. What else could she do? She told him it was okay.

Because it is okay.

But what if she didn't want this?

It doesn't matter what I want.

But she was afraid. Didn't that mean she should say no?

That's not a good enough reason.

But she was scared—

So what? I'm scared all the time.

The gray haze thickened, darkened, and suddenly she was underwater. Her breaths seemed unnatural, her vision blurred, and every movement of her body was like slow motion. Through the shimmers of the surface, she caught glimpses of the boy she met that night holding her, kissing her, his hands drifting all over her body. She could feel it all, even so far down, where the light barely reached and any attempt to speak was like screaming for help from the bottom of a lake.

She felt the waistband of her panties lift from her skin as his fingers slid under it, and stayed silent as the undergarment was stripped away. She lay there, exposed and defenseless, as his hand lowered between her legs. His fingers passed over her, gently drifting up and down, igniting sparks of pleasure that made her shudder. As she did, the haze smothered the last of her fear, threatening to suffocate her completely.

This is normal. Someone touching me like this is normal.

But he wanted more than to touch her like this. Was she really okay with letting him—?

I'm okay with it. I have to be.

But she didn't want to, she didn't love him, she didn't even like him—

That doesn't matter. It'll make him happy.

Why was that so important? What about her happiness?

Making other people happy makes me happy.

Then why wasn't she happy right now?

…

…

…

…Because I don't care anymore.

Sour Sweet watched, impassive, as the boy she barely knew removed the last of his own clothing. The girl on the bed spread her legs apart, inviting him to do what she knew he wanted. Her eyes closed, she exhaled as much as she could with the haze filling her lungs, and she waited.

He said something she didn't hear. He lowered himself between her legs, grabbed her by the hips, and pressed forward—

—She felt it touch her—

The haze disappeared, and Sour Sweet pushed him away, screaming.