Kaylah's POV

How many times is it socially acceptable to call a stranger before you become a creep? Whatever that number might be, I had most certainly exceeded it, the seven missed phone calls being shameful evidence.

"She'll call back," muttered Ianie, as unfazed (and most likely high) as ever, extending their vape towards me. I eyed it suspiciously.

"Please tell me it isn't cherry flavoured again. You know I hate cherry," at that, they just rolled their eyes. "It's mint. Come on, it'll help you relax," Ianie's calm was borderline annoying, yet I accepted the offer, as I realised how badly my feet hurt from pacing around.

"How long- "

"Almost 20 minutes. C'mon sit down," they pat the seat next to them, and while a concrete slab normally wouldn't look so appealing (although in the shade) my heel clad feet definitely felt like they needed a break. I puffed out a long stream of smoke, watching it disperse in the moisture-soaked air.

"You know there's always the possibility that she doesn't know anything and you're wasting your time fretting over nothing," although they said this in the same moronic calm they had held onto the whole afternoon, and although I logically knew they probably hadn't intended to spite me, the remark still grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"You know there's always the possibility that you're being an insensitive asshole about it, and I could just leave" although I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth, I didn't regret them quite enough to apologize.

However, it got my point across. Ianie stood up, gave me an incredulous look, then promptly shrugged. Deciding to give me the space I craved, they promptly picked up their bike.

" 'Aight. Text me when you're feeling like a decent person again," Ianie said plainly, not even sparing me a glance. Fine by me.

I extended my arm to hand them over the vape, but Ianie promptly batted my hand away. "You need it more than I do," and with that they sped off, bell clinking obscenely loud, scaring a couple of children playing nearby and making one of the little ones cry, which earned some dirty looks from their mothers.

The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach had come back again. Although eight months is considerably longer than I expected it to take, I had silently hoped it wouldn't come back at all. I only feel the more guilty as I've been debating whether I should simply just end this relationship, this charade, before I work myself back into the same agonizing panic I have multiple times before.

6:28. I still had about three and a half hours to kill before curfew. And yes, I do have curfew at 9:30 at 17. And that's if I really push it. It's just that I happen to have one of those helicopter mothers who don't really grasp the concept of a democratic system. I'd really love to have an argument that ends in anything else except "Because I said so,". Thank god nurses just so happen to work 12-hour shifts. Night shifts especially.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. She can just be a little too much at times. Okay, maybe more than a little.

I started walking aimlessly around, slowly circling the lake, headphones plugged in, bopping to a Muse song I really love but could never recall the name of (like I can ever recall the name of anything important). Funnily enough, I will probably never remember whether my best friends' birthday is on the 10th or 12th of October, but I am yet to forget the capital of Barbados, something one of my fact obsessed ex boyfriends mentioned on our first date (It's Bridgetown).

The music brutally cut off to give way to the generic iPhone ringtone everybody swears they hate yet still use.  I really need to fix that. Or get another phone. Just putting it out there in case my mom actually made good on the promise to hire a private investigator to monitor me 24/7 and is now actually listening to me mumble(it wasn't a fun argument).I gave the 30 something year old passing by a wicked side eye glance and although he probably thought I was crazy, I couldn't care less when I saw who was calling.

Although the first time Gage ever called my cell I was tempted not to save his number, I realised I would very much have a moment or two to spiritually prepare myself for the onslaught of stupidity I would be subjected to after I hit Accept. After some deliberation and serious soul searching, I decided to note him down as Fucktard.

"If Ariana's not answering your calls, it's probably for a fucking good reason," I tried to keep my voice as flat as possible, but failed miserably, ire obvious in my tone. I was never much for small talk, anyway.

"Can we meet?" well, he surely didn't entertain the cripplingly bland social construct known as small talk either. His tone though, caught me off guard. His mocking attitude replaced by a voice that seemed in equal parts anxious and distraught.

"Why?" I refrained from trying to jab at the already open wound about his (ex) relationship. Although Ariana said they didn't formerly break up, changing your status to "You were my cup of tea, but I drink champagne now" is pretty self-explanatory. Or maybe not. Men are odd creatures.

When I was only met by a stretch of silence, I felt compelled to ask "Are you going to give an me answer, or can I just hang up already," after a moment, I added "You're not helping your case here" Ah yes, I've always wanted to say that.

Well of course, not as much as I want to say "I object, your Honour" but it's a close second. Maybe third. And yes, I am applying to law school, but I'm not going to sell my soul to the devil for eternal wealth, thank you very much. Maybe for a spot at King's College London though.

" I would rather you hear about what happened Saturday night from me first,"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "How are you so sure I don't already know?"

"Because you picked up the phone and you're not threatening me with a restraining order, again"

"Yet is probably the word you're looking for. Meet me at Bailey's in half an hour," I checked my watch. I could get this over with in two hours, hopefully.

"Wait. You mean, today?" he sounded so taken aback I had agreed I almost laughed out loud. Truth was, if I wouldn't have already been so desperate to understand what the hell has gone down, I would've let it go to voicemail from the get-go.

"Do you have something better to do or what?" I didn't wait for an answer before I hung up and called for a taxi. 

xxxx

I overestimated traffic. It only took 10 minutes to get to the bar, and another 5 to order my regular, an Iced coffee with almond milk and the smallest bit of vanilla syrup. That felt me with an excess of 15 minutes or so before Gage was bound to show up. After spending the whole taxi drive pretending I didn't notice him staring and him pretending he's just adjusting his review mirror, I wasn't in the mood to act oblivious to the snickering and side comments made in my direction by my fellow bar visitors. So, I did what any respectable woman would; I stared them down until they turned away.

And when one of the cockier newcomers had the audacity to lean into my personal space, close enough for the stench of stale beer to make me scrunch my nose considerably as he asked "Watcha doing later?" I manage to look him dead in the eye and sweetly say "Homework". As he visibly blanched and promptly excused himself, I heard Jon, dear friend and bartender snicker, pathetically failing to conceal it behind his fringe as he bent his head, suddenly very engaged in polishing wine glasses.

Damn, that smile is contagious. It's times like these that I think back on it, and I don't regret him being my first. And no, we never dated; neither of us were looking for commitment. It didn't last long though, because only a couple weeks later he told me without much preamble but a lot of nervous shuffling "I think I'm gay". I laughed, and when I realised he was serious, I laughed some more. And we left it at that.

Friends with benefits fit the both of us much better for that short time, though I know for most people, a no strings attached deal would never suffice. I understood Ari when she said so herself. "How can you settle for that little?" she asked, and I knew it was simply sheer curiosity and not malice that prompted the question. I only shrugged, because I didn't know how to eloquently say it was the only kind of arrangement that made me feel like I wasn't drowning.

Might you just glimpse us in a photo or meet us through a friend of a friend, it's not had to see how we would have radically different preferences when it comes to relationships. I mean, if first impressions are the only thing you might base your opinion on, you might even wonder how in the world our friendship works. With long hair perfectly straightened into submission, soft makeup and converse, Ari seems every bit the girl looking for a "happily ever after" with some idealised version of some guy.

I couldn't differ more from her even if I tried. I had my hair shorn to my collarbones and always ridiculously curly (through hard work of course; naturally, it's pin straight) and my makeup never missed the tell-tale cat eye, highlight, and of course dark lips. Add into the mix the heels I cant make myself forgo no matter where I go, and I seem just the kind of girl that would wonder into a bar tucked in a sleepy corner of the town; the old town centre, now a hubbub of rowdy men and women only from the second half of June to the middle of August.

Bailey's wasn't anything fancy and hasn't changed much since I first wondered in almost a year ago. Just another one of your café slash bar settings, that was cosy and chill during the day, and slightly more upbeat at night-time. However, what turned me into a regular was the far wall. The owner, a woman in her 40's, had bought the bar after the former owner was charged with selling LSD and meth to clients, to "enhance the experience" (or so said the 7 o'clock news). It all only came to light, however, when a fight brawl escalated, ending with four severely injured men who were hospitalised, and a massive hole in the rear wall.

Not having the money to repair it, she did what anyone in their right mind would do; mask it with an Ikea bookcase. But as Bailey's started making profit and expanded, the whole was never fixed. Instead, the shoddy bookcase was steadily replaced by a full-blown floor to ceiling wall bookcase, complete with a slider ladder, much to my delight. So, I became regular, coming in once or twice a week to borrow a book (or two). With time, I even began donating my own books and with some help from my friend, managed to fill up even the highest shelves, now slightly bent under the weight.

So yes, I chose Bailey's for the calm vibe I get from it, and for the regulars I smile at every time I come back, but most of all because I feel safe here. Because I know that if need be, Jon would have my back.

Suddenly the front door's bell was chiming, and Gage was walking in. Yet it didn't really look much like Gage at all. Instead of long, self-assured strides and a self-centred lazy grin, he walked cautiously, almost shuffling across the black and white tiled floor, hunched in onto himself which made him look much shorter than he was and his gaze so far away and sullen, I wondered if he had finally gotten a football to his head at practice after all. Or finally developed a conscience. Just saying.