“Have some tea, Nina!” James commands me as I step out of the vehicle. I glance back at the guys with a smile; grins linger on their lips. I extend my hand so each of them can shake it briefly, then shut the door behind me.

  I spent the day with William, James, and Mark. I think I enjoyed myself, though the past few hours were overwhelming with stimuli. We ate a lot, joked around, and William bought me a pink penguin keychain. The tension peaked when a driver decided to swerve into the wrong lane in a roundabout.

  Problems seemed to keep cropping up. Even though we avoided a crash, James’s phone decided to talk incessantly. Siri wouldn’t shut up. We weren’t even using the GPS, but she kept telling us to turn right. This wouldn’t have been such an issue, except the phone was connected to the car speakers, and Mark instinctively followed the instructions while driving.

  That’s the story of how we got lost in our own city.

  We yelled at the phone a lot, then at Mark, figuring out how to get off the main road, and even threw in a few insults directed at the oncoming driver’s mother. Everyone held up pretty well except for my vocal cords, which gave out completely.

  When I finally get to my apartment, I lock the door behind me. There’s no way I’m hosting guests tonight. I walk to the couch, turn on the TV, and connect my phone to it to play a light playlist. Following James’s advice, I head to the kitchen for tea. I feel so drained that I barely make it to the doorway before leaning against the wall and sliding down it. I take off my bag- with its two-inch penguin charm- and stare at the wall.

  I feel like something’s missing from my life, but I have no idea what. On top of that, my throat is sore from trying to shout over the guys. I run my fingers through my hair, giving it the same half-hearted attention as I give to trying to straighten out my life.

  Mark’s demeanor is as casual as the piano notes playing from my speaker. Yet when someone new enters my life, his behavior turns strange.

  James and I have been analyzing this for days, trying to figure out what’s going on with him, but so far, we’re just speculating. He often places his hand on my waist when he’s talking to me or grabs my hand while we’re walking. But if I mention Christopher, his eyebrows twitch instantly.

  My investigation is fruitless. I want to push my curiosity aside because whenever I ask him about it, he insists I’m imagining things.

  I grab a beer instead.

  Getting up from the floor, I open my snow-white fridge, grab an ice-cold drink, and head back to the living room with my bag. I toss it to its designated spot -the end of the couch- and follow it to my usual corner. After opening the beer, I pick up the book I recently started reading.

  Stephen King’s Misery.

  I’d be lying if I said I’m enjoying it, probably because I don’t usually read. I look at the words, but they refuse to form into sentences in my mind, as if my brain skips that part. Since I started paying more attention to the world around me, nothing can hold my focus for long. I’m past the two-hundredth page, yet I can’t digest a single sentence of the next chapter.

  The text feels chewy, hard to swallow, as if the words themselves are trying to digest me.

  Sipping the last of my beer, I decide to give up on reading. I put the book back on the coffee table and stare at the nothingness in front of me. Well, earlier it was the pages, but they were about as engaging as the wall.

  The problem isn’t the book, it’s me.

  My phone buzzes, pulling me out of this perfect trance. Mark texted me. Just one word: Sorry.

  My face twists into a grimace. I’d love to dwell on this intriguing message, but the thought of changing into something more comfortable is more appealing.

  I finish the last sip of my drink and push myself off the couch. Just as I do, my phone rings, pulling me back. It’s an unknown number, not even vaguely familiar. I hesitate before deciding to pick it up and get it over with.

  “Listen, I’ve got an unbelievable story to tell you!” says an unfamiliar voice, slurring slightly.

  “I’m Nina Harrison,” I introduce myself, sinking back onto the couch.

  “Oh! I’m… I’m Dante! Dante Ross!” The name makes me toss the phone to the other side of the couch in shock. Once I recover, I lunge for it and press it back to my ear.

  “Sorry, did you say something?”

  “I spent half an hour begging Mark to give me your number! Finally… I can tell you.” So that’s why Mark apologized!

  “So… what’s your story?”

  “Do you know the tale of the cheese, the fox, and the crow?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re the cheese!”

  “I’m cheese?” I burst out laughing, a little louder than I intend.

  “You are! And Mark is a jerk crow!”

  “Then you’re the fox, right?” I try not to howl with laughter, but it’s been ages since someone reached out with such ridiculous nonsense.

  “Yes? Yes! I’m the fox!” I hear laughter in the background, his friends must have gotten him completely drunk.

  “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  “Totally. It sucks that you’re not here.”

  “Well… sorry,” I say, smiling as I get up to have a cigarette by the window.

  “Yeah… me too. You should be here.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not.”

  “Listen, I’ve got another story!”

  “Oh, another one?” I might sound sarcastic, but honestly, hearing his voice feels good.

  “You know that story about the knight…?”

  “Uh-huh…” I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “Will you be my kingdom?”

  “Dante, you’ve definitely had one too many.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Wait, let me explain!”

  “I’m waiting…” The click of my lighter seems to distract him because there’s silence on the line for a moment.

  “So there’s this knight who goes to the Fairy Kingdom for a girl…”

  “Yes?”

  “I mean… I meant what I said in the car.” His words catch me so off guard that the cigarette falls from my lips onto the windowsill. “I know it’s ridiculously late, and I’m sorry for calling you while drunk, but I can’t spend another night with this weighing on me. You know? I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “I think you’re completely drunk, and this is just a silly prank.”

  “It’s not a prank! I might be drunk, but I’m serious!”

  “Uh-huh…” I roll my eyes and take a drag from my cigarette. Why would I believe him if he can’t say these things sober?

  He constantly draws me in with his cold demeanor. I feel like he wants to consume me whole, but when he finally has me in his grasp, he lets go. Doesn’t he see how much of a hold he has on me? To him, I’m like a drinking game, he takes me out when he’s got booze, has his fun, then puts me away until next time.

  “Nina, I regret not making a move on you in the car.”

  “So do I,” I admit quietly, exhaling smoke.

  “WHAT?! Really?!”

  “Really.”

  “Now what?”

  “Nothing. You’re drunk. We’ll talk about it when you sober up tomorrow.”

  “Seriously?!”

  “Yes. Goodnight, Dante.” Calmly, I hang up. Putting out the cigarette in the ashtray, I return to the couch, lost in thought.

  I’m not sure if that was a wise decision, but I know this will ripple into the days ahead.

  My thoughts dart around my head like cars on a highway, replaying the events of the past few months. It feels like they’re about to burst out of me.

  I don’t want to tell Mark. Lately, I haven’t felt like he’s the right person to trust with my secrets. The more I’ve gotten to know his circle of friends, the further I’ve drifted from him, as if these people are guarding a mystery that I’m never meant to uncover.

  With a sigh, I wrap my arms around my legs, my phone resting in my hands. Time ticks on, and everything comes into focus in these moments: Dante’s touch, his smile, the feel of him, the kiss he pressed to my cheek. It doesn’t seem like a lie, yet something feels off.

  Before I realize it, I’m searching for James’s name on social media, as though he’s my only refuge. My fingers move across the screen on their own, but I consciously type out the message and send it:

  “Can you come over to talk?”

  “Yeah, just got home,” he replies.

  I get up to unlock the door for him and then head to the bedroom to change. I swap my ripped jeans for pink shorts, my tank top for a black T-shirt, and my shoes for slippers. I let my hair out of its tie and remove the light makeup from my face in the bathroom.

  I have a feeling James will be thirsty, so I grab four beers from the fridge and place them on the coffee table. Ready for the conversation, I decide to change things up: instead of sitting on the couch, I settle on the floor and start scrolling through my phone.

  It doesn’t take long for James to arrive. He steps into my apartment like he owns the place, kicking off his shoes before plopping onto the couch. He’s practically glowing with happiness.

  “Are we watching another crappy horror movie?” he asks. It’s a fair question; we usually hang out like this over a few beers. I’m curious why he hasn’t noticed that no one else was invited.

  “We can, but that’s not the main reason I asked you over.”

  “So, what’s up?” he asks, smiling as he grabs a beer, pops it open, and takes a big sip. I follow suit.

  “You know that guy… Dante.”

  “Yeah,” he says, still smiling. I don’t understand why he’s so cheerful, he’s usually much more indifferent.

  “Okay, you start. What are you so happy about? Did your wisdom tooth grow in?” I tease, leaning against the couch as I settle more comfortably on the floor.

  He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and returns a moment later, placing an ashtray on the coffee table. My confused look makes him grimace, but he doesn’t explain. He simply pulls out a suspiciously rolled cigarette. The distinctive smell hits me immediately, and I let out a sigh, raising a hand in surrender.

  “I should’ve known.”

  “William and I had a successful shopping trip.”

  “I see you haven’t tried it yet.”

  “I trust my people. I’ll try it now.” He lights it with such ease, it’s as if he’s forgotten how much I hate when he does this.

  “Enough about me. What’s up with Dante? He’s the one William knocked out, right?” I nod.

  “He confessed his love again.”

  “Again?!”

  “Yeah, he had a similar moment in the car.”

  “And what’s the problem?” he asks, puffing away as his eyes grow redder by the second.

  “Well, once again, he only opened his mouth when he was drunk…”

  “Again?!”

  “Yes.”

  “He confessed his love drunk?”

  “Yes…”

  “Twice?” I feel increasingly uncomfortable and avoid his gaze. “What a clown!” His sudden burst of laughter is so infectious that I can’t help but join in.

  “And you? Do you love him?”

  “Well, if I didn’t feel like a drinking game to him, maybe I’d feel more than just chemistry.”

  “Want me to knock him out?”

  “James!” I laugh as he does too. I don’t know why I thought this would be a serious conversation.

  “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. He already got that from William. So, what do you want? Advice?”

  “No, just stay here tonight. Let’s watch a crappy movie.”

  “You don’t want to be alone with your thoughts?”

  “Not really…” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, taking a deep drag from his magical cigarette before speaking again.

  “Why did you call me, anyway?”

  “William doesn’t really know who Dante is, and Mark acts weird whenever I mention him—or, well, whenever I mention anyone who isn’t you guys.”

  “Elise?”

  “She’s already asleep.”

  “Mark has been acting kind of strange lately…” James muses, staring at the ceiling. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

  “I don’t think he’s jealous. Or wait—”

  “Yes?”

  “Has *he* drunkenly confessed his love recently?”

  “No.”

  “Then… I don’t know what’s up with him.” He takes a swig of his beer as if that’s the end of it. “Well, since it’s me you’re dealing with, I’ll stay. I’ve got the late shift this week anyway.”

  “Ahh, thank you. I feel a bit lost in my own head.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll put on a cringe-worthy horror movie. Light up a store-bought cigarette, grab your beer, and laugh your brain out.”

  I do as he says without a second thought. I eagerly open the living room window, bring my cigarettes to the coffee table, and turn off the lights before curling up next to James.

  As he struggles with the smart TV, I can’t help but think about how he understands my heart as if it were beating in his own chest. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t try too hard—he’s just there for me, supporting me without words. He’s the brother life forgot to gift me.

  The movie finally starts, and for the next two hours, everything goes as planned. We quietly talk about the minor plot holes, the terrible footage that screams, “I’m supposed to be scary!” but isn’t, just awkward. At some point, the alcohol runs out, the cigarettes dwindle, and James… well, he falls asleep while propping his head up. I, however, fall asleep resting on his arm. At least, that’s the only logical explanation I can think of for why I woke up on his thigh.

  Before things get awkward, I slip away, deciding to make us a hearty breakfast, and maybe clean up the mess we left on the table.

  Rubbing my eyes, I grab my phone to check the time, but what catches my attention is a message from Dante, sent about three hours ago:

  “Sorry for my behavior last night… I still mean it.”