Perhaps the only happily ever after is to survive to tell the story.
—Kat Howard, Roses and Rot.

My hair is blonde, I'm slightly tipsy and despite the fact that I'm making out with one of the youngest, sought after fashion designers in the country in his fancy Beverly Hills apartment, I can't stop thinking about the rude, sarcastic guy with extremely blue eyes and arms bedazzled with ink.

With a slight sigh, I push myself away from Beau Eli's very talented lips. "This isn't working."

Beau raises an eyebrow and makes a move by leaning in again. "What do you mean?"

I counter his move by standing up, stepping away from the couch and adjusting my clothes. "I mean...you're not him."

I could bite my tongue for being treacherous. I didn't mean to say that at all; I meant to lie. I wanted to concoct some story about me being scared. Telling him that I'm not ready—some bullshit about how he should wait till after tomorrow before we make it to the bedroom.

Beau also stands and his height is suddenly staggering. At this point, everything is staggering. I think I may have taken a bit too much champagne. "Did you get taller?"

He frowns in reply. "What do you mean I'm not him?"

"...What it means," I sigh and yeah, I think I may be drunk right now because there's no way in hell that I'm about to be blunt and honest to an almost A-list celebrity. "I came over here because tomorrow is my birthday and nothing feels right anymore. My ex step sister turned best friend isn't talking to me anymore which also kind of makes her my ex best friend now, the guy I like isn't mine anymore and fuck, I'm blonde."

It's almost like I'm not in charge of my body anymore. Did Beau put something in my drink? Also, why does he have a blurry face? "So, I was fucking depressed at home and I haven't felt that way in a long while and I don't like feeling that way because I tend to do stupid shit whenever I'm feeling that way. So I tried watching new shows but nothing really captured my attention and then the WiFi actually died on me so I called up this girl—Imogen—and she said she can't hang out with me because she's watching Riverdale and then here I am, with you. And I just realized that you're hot and whatever but I don't like you the way I like him and the thought of fucking you makes me feel out of it because he never once had sex with me and I don't even know why I'm here."

I groan and quickly snatch up my purse. "I'll be going now."

A hand snags my wrist before I can even take a step away. "You can leave when you can talk without slurring," Beau rasps and I cringe because, true. I'm stupid enough to speed by red lights but driving while drunk when tomorrow is my birthday and the world has a twisted sense of humor? I'm not that stupid.

For a moment, I can't move. I don't know what to do.

I make a move to move backwards but I stumble and land on the couch. "Fuck, I'm drunk."

"Champagne is pretty strong," Beau explains and I try not to cringe as he sits beside me. "Now, tell me. Who is he?"

"Hmm?" Why is the room spinning?

"The guy that you like so much that makes me pale in comparison," Beau clarifies. "He must be...something."

I bark out a laugh at the choice of words. Something. A perfect adjective reserved just for him. "He's a fucking rude asshole," I shrug lightly and finally turn to face Beau. "I met him when I was trying to complete my bucket list. He's a tattoo artist, your age, with eyes bluer than mine and...I don't know. He was a total ass to me but then he's so observant and he makes me laugh and he says stupid shit and...I couldn't stay with him."

Beau blinks. "You broke up with him?"

"Couldn't stay with him because Father exists and I'm a greedy rich girl that can't fully commit to anything," I bark out a bitter laugh. "I couldn't commit myself to Reyna as a friend, I couldn't commit to ballet as a passion, I couldn't commit myself to Ian as a fucking girlfriend and—damn, I couldn't even commit myself to a damn bucket list!"

There's silence for a moment as Beau stares at me and the room continues spinning. Or maybe my eyes are just bad? I need glasses. "Can I have some more champagne?"

"Have you seen a therapist?" Beau replies instead and I frown at the words. Thera-what? "I think you need to talk this out with a professional."

"I did, once upon a time," I shrug lightly. "I got tired of the antidepressants so I grew a pair and forced myself to stop crying then just shut myself down from finding any other real interests. You know, before anyone could tell me what I can do, what I can't do." I pause. "Apparently, I am a natural born model and ballet wasn't for me, so why should I even have other interests, hmm."

"...I think you need some more champagne," Beau clears his throat and his reply makes me laugh.

"Ian would have never given me more alcohol," I continue to laugh as Beau pours me another glass. "He likes feeling like such a saint...a saint with a hip flask and tattoos lining his arms but you know; a saint nonetheless."

Beau hums as he hands me a glass full of champagne. "Sounds like a good guy."

"Yeah," I hiccup as I accept the glass. "Probably why I don't deserve him...he knows what he wants to do and I'm here, indecisive about everything. I mean, I'm turning eighteen tomorrow and come September, I'll be a senior. My mates are trying to get extra credit to get into some fancy college and I don't even know what I want to do with my life. I'm just a puppet for Father for manipulate and—and why am I telling you this again?"

"Because you're drunk."

"Ah," I nod at the answer and take another large gulp of the bubbly drink. "Why did I ever hate champagne, like this shit is amazing."

Beau sighs for a moment and I turn my blurry eyed gaze to him. "What? You want some more champagne too?"

"I think you should prove to your Father that you can commit to something," Beau says, completely ignoring my question. "Maybe if you show him that you're serious about something...he'll take you serious for once."

I blink at him. "Huh?"

"Okay, we're not close, sure," Beau rambles on and I'm starting to think that maybe there is something in the expensive drink. "But I never would have looked at you and guessed that you ever had a thing for ballet before."

"I'm mysterious," I hiccup. "It's part of my charm."

At this point, I can't even see Beau's face. "Right," he drawls. "Anyhow, maybe you should take something serious for once. Show your dad that you can have stable interests and maybe just maybe, you'll find yourself grounded. Less like a puppet and more like a girl with dreams."

My eyes finally manage to focus on Beau's face and I pause. He looks serious about what he's saying and maybe it's the alcohol but I think he's right. I'm a girl with dreams and desires and—!

I purse my lips. "...I think I'm gonna throw up."

_______

So, after a long argument about who cares about the other more, Reyna blocked me.

And I wish I could say it hurts but in a way, it doesn't. Like, it does but not as bad as I thought it would be.

Maybe it's because I always felt that we would stop talking one day. You know, we'd just keeping missing schedules phone calls and keep forgetting to text the other till finally, it gets awkward to even think about calling each other and boom; we're back to strangers again.

And it would be more painful that way. Just fading away from each other's lives slowly...so maybe it's better this way. Like a ripped off band aid with too much negativity but it's just better.

So maybe that's why I'm currently reluctant to pick up her call. To replace the band aid—and wait, why am I talking in parables? Is it because I'm eighteen now?

...Is this how eighteen year olds talk? Ew.

I gulp as my finger hovers around the accept button. I know she's trying to make amends despite the fact that it's actually my fault and I'm not sure I want that. Reyna...actually deserves better and...

Hell. I press the decline button.

Then I call her back.

"Well, that was unexpected," Reyna coughs as soon as she answers the call. "Like my heart literally dropped when you declined the call and I was like she's eighteen now but she's still acting like she's twelve? and well, look at you proving me wrong."

"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I've been a crappy person to you and you deserve better—"

"Oh please, don't," Reyna chuckles but the sound is a bit strained. But then again, it could just be a trick of the crappy network. "You're human. You had a boyfriend and he's right there with you and I should have been more sympathetic."

"I was literally ignoring your calls, Reyna."

"I do that sometimes too, when I'm extremely tired," she admits and I can just imagine her shrug. "I put my phone on airplane mode sometimes just so I won't have to pointedly ignore your calls."

Oh. So they're levels to this shit. "That's low," I laugh before I can stop myself.

"We're human, Scarlett," Reyna chuckles. "You have never bullied anyone before. You haven't raped, maimed or killed anyone. You're not a 'bad' person. You're a brash, straightforward, rude girl but I like you and somehow, you like me so of course we deserve each other."

Trust Reyna to read some motivational bullshit out to me. "Fine..."

"You're still a bad friend," Reyna quips and I wince because, true. "But it's alright, I'm not exactly perfect too."

"You're the better friend in this friendship of ours though."

"...Yeah," Reyna sighs. "It makes me feel better about myself so yay, right?"

I laugh and lean my back against my headboard. It's only 12:04AM and my notifications are probably going to massacre my phone as soon as the call is over but I need this. This is the best birthday gift I could have gotten from Reyna; her forgiveness, support and friendship.

I don't plan to take advantage of it again.

"Happy birthday Scarlett," she mutters and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Now tell me something I don't know."

I broke up with Ian and...I shake my head. "I stalked your Instagram with another account. Tell me; who is that curly haired blond that you've been taking pictures with lately?"

Her groan makes me grin. Good. For once, let's talk about something that doesn't revolve around me.

_______

So, my birthday 'party' is over and it's 11:45PM and Ian still didn't text me.

Which sucks because this really means it's over between us, right?

I take a deep breath as Father drives me home. My make up has faded into something almost horrendous on my face and my dress—white, yikes—has a few stains dotted all over the shoulder sleeves because of the foundation from random people that find it appropriate to hug someone they don't even know really tight.

Stained dress assigned, the 'party' was a success, according to Father. I smiled all evening, maintained some manners and I had a certain sarcastic charm that the guests loved. He says that I'll be a hit and he'll secure small modeling gigs for me to start with even though I've worked with prominent people like Beau Eli and...

Oh God. I promised him a date after the party a long while ago. I saw him there talking to different people and we exchanged a few awkward words considering the fact that I puked all over him before and...

Yeah, we're never going on that date.

"What the-?" Father exclaims and I turn my gaze away from the window in question. His eyes are trained on the road in front of him so I follow his gaze.

And I blink.

Standing in my driveway, right in front of the garage is Ian Ross. It may be dark out and he's wearing dark clothes but I know his lean, tall figure. So what if he has an extremely dark stubble now? I know Ian when I see him.

"Oh my fuck..." I gulp and suddenly, I want to wash my face. Make myself look more presentable. Damn, I want my hair to be black again! I don't look half as badass as I normally did!

Father sends me a look. "Isn't that the young man you were seeing exclusively for a week?"

"Two weeks," I correct him. Ian steps out of the way as Father drives into the garage and my chest suddenly feels very cold. "Can...I still talk to him?"

Father sends me another dry look. "Since when do you ask for my permission to do anything?"

I roll my eyes, taking his salty reply as a yes.

He parks the car and I try to keep some of my dignity intact as I jump out. I'm a sweaty mess with most of my makeup staining my dress and this is why I wear black and...I don't have time for this right now, do I?

I groan as Father walks out of the car. "Be back in before twelve."

I ignore him because we both know that it may take a while before I walk in, depending on how things turn out between Ian and I.

I watch as Father exists the garage and pauses, turning to talk to someone; 'someone' obviously being Ian. I can't hear what either of them are saying but I'm guessing that's the point.

Finally, he walks away and then...he walks in.

You know, seeing Ian with a stubble makes me feel weak in the knees. He looks deliciously sinful—less like a pretty boy and more like an attractive man.

He stops a few yards away from me like he isn't sure if we're on the right terms to even be breathing the same air.

Complete and utter bullshit. Without really thinking about it, I follow my gut instinct by throwing myself into his arms. I bury my face in his neck and inhale his very familiar cologne.

Ian chuckles a bit and my heart somewhat swells as he wraps an arm around my waist, returning the hug. "Hey. I missed you too."

I bite my tongue to keep from saying something snappy in reply. I have missed him and he's right here so it's only right for me to soak in the moment.

After a moment, I finally pull myself away and look at his face. "You're growing a beard."

He raises one dark eyebrow. "And you're blonde."

I cringe as I touch the hair. "Yeah...I've always wanted to be blonde but now, not so much."

"It's a good look on you though," he says and I blink because he sounds sincere enough. Why is he being so nice to me right now? Shouldn't he be angry?

I warily step away from him. "So...not that I'm not happy to see you...because I am. But, um, why are you here?"

He shakes his head with a small smile. "Happy birthday."

I almost scoff in surprise. "Dude. It's practically midnight and you came here to wish me a happy birthday?"

He shrugs lightly. "Don't remind me," he warns and his tone is actually fifty percent serious. "I spent the whole day prepping myself for this moment. I wasn't even sure if I should come but...yeah. Here I am."

I can't even suppress my smile. "Thank you. It...means a lot."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he digs into his pockets and pulls out a black velvet box.

I stare down at it for a short while. "This isn't how I thought my proposal would be like."

"You should keep thinking," Ian drawls and a smile automatically graces my face because of his dry tone. He hands the box over to me. "I bought it a while ago and I didn't feel like returning it..."

I smile at him with what I hope looks like gratitude before returning my look back to the box in my hands. I take a deep breath and open it.

I choke.

It's a silver plated charm bracelet.

A fucking Shadowhunter charm bracelet. With a few runes that I can't even identify and...

I look up at him again. "Just when I think I've got you figured out, you get me a $25 bracelet for my birthday."

Ian gasps, appalled. "Each rune charm is exactly $18 each, and the bracelet itself was...okay $25, but still, it's the sentimental value that counts."

I give him an unimpressed look. "Dude, just because I wanted a tattoo of the rune doesn't mean I'm part of the fandom. I don't even know what any of these runes mean."

"Strength, fortune, flexibility, friendship and endurance," Ian rattles the meanings like the nerd he is. He sends me a wary smile. "They're the runes I associate with you. Strength because you're strong. Fortune because you're rich. Flexibility because I've seen you do the splits. Friendship because we started out as friends. And endurance because..."

I raise an eyebrow as he trails off. "Because?"

He clears his throat. "Despite your past...you're here, stronger than ever. And shit keeps on happening to you but you're still fighting and...yeah. It's admirable."

He's blushing hard and I am too. I clear my throat and nod. "Thank you."

He nods too. "Yeah," he smiles awkwardly. "So, I guess this is goodbye, huh?"

I shake my head, my glare resolutely trained on my charm bracelet. "I...don't think so."

There's silence for a moment and I'm almost scared to believe that I'm alone again but I can feel his presence. Finally, he breaks the silence. "Why do you think so?"

I chuckle lightly as I pick out the cheap bracelet from the fancy box. "I may be eighteen now and that means a lot of things for me...new life, new career, new hair."

I can almost imagine his eye roll because of my 'new hair' comment. "Careful, you don't want to sound like you're making a New Year's resolution."

I ignore his sarcasm as I look for another angle to approach the topic at hand. "Just because we wouldn't have made it as a couple doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Ian sighs loudly as I place the empty velvet box on the hood of the car beside me. "Scarlett..."

"I know you don't think we can be friends," I gulp. "But really think about it? Maybe you're still angry with me and looking at me is a pain but maybe when you've forgiven me...you can just send me a text?"

I'm spending most of my energy trying to wear the charm bracelet just because I don't want to see his face right now.

Ian groans and steps into my personal space before snatching my arm. "Keep still."

I let go of the bracelet and he takes his time to wear it for me. I continue to ramble. "Maybe we're meant to be Ian. Maybe we just met at the wrong time. I don't know how the universe works but I believe that we didn't just meet coincidentally and we didn't even snap at each other once throughout this little meeting and..."

"If I say yeah, we can still be friends," Ian cuts in and I'm forced to notice that he's done helping me put on the slightly loose bracelet, "Will you stop talking so uncharacteristically?"

I finally turn my gaze back to his and I mentally curse my (low) heels. We're basically looking each other in the eye right now. "Yeah, I will."

"Okay," Ian nods. "We can still be friends."

I pause. "You mean that, right?" I frown a bit. "You're not just saying that to make me shut up?"

"Actually, I'm not."

I glare at him a little harder.

"...It'll take some time," Ian shrugs lightly. "You get a grip on your 'new life' and your 'new career' and I get a grip on myself. We'll text and have periodic phone calls and then, maybe, one day, we can go out...as friends."

Sounds fair. I'm lucky that he's even considering the fact that we can be friends. I smile. "That sounds cool," I lick my lower lip. "You did promise me a free tattoo so I have that to look forward to."

Ian laughs and before I know what's happening, he's pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Talk to you soon."

And then, he's gone.

...Well, not gone gone. I can still see his retreating figure and I wonder how he's going to get home. Maybe a cab? Maybe a bus? I'm not sure; I just want him to get home safe.

Maybe Ian and I are actually meant to be. But then again, maybe it's not just time for us to be Scarlett & Ian yet. Maybe I'm just meant to be Scarlett—the eighteen year old girl still finding herself and maybe he's just meant to be Ian—the guy who still has a lot of dreams to make reality. Maybe we need each other to grow and prosper first before anything bulletproof can happen between us.

Or maybe we met each other so that we can help each other grow to be the people we need to be in order to end up with the people we really belong with? Is that why? Is this some How I Met Your Mother/Father story that I'm going to tell my kid one day with Uncle Ian trying to push in a few false details in the mix?

(So many maybe's. Why am I thinking like this these days? Is this how growing up feels like?)

It's more bearable for me to think of Ian as a friend than as a 'what if'.

(Again, why am I thinking this way?)

I sigh as I look down at the charm bracelet. I'm tired. I need sleep. I have too many questions and I know I'm not getting answers anytime soon.

I walk out of the garage and into my home.

...I have to watch a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother now.

You know. Just in case.

Something like "The End" but probably not really the end. I'm so sorry.