Who could be trusted? That was the question of the century.

A question she had to ask herself constantly every single day.

The music from the party roared on, the laughter and carefreeness of a bunch of college students illuminating the night. she sighed softly, leaning against the balcony and staring out at the surprisingly starry night. Khalil was always talking about light pollution and how it was erasing the stars from their view. So why was it showing up now? Strange. So very strange. But she was hardly complaining as she basked under the silvery, luminous glow of the moonlight. She could still envision Vanessa dancing with every single man in the party except Caleb, the one who would give her the best dance he could.

How she wished her friends would finally realize that they were meant to be.

Leira sipped her mysterious drink and nearly gagged at the bitter, sudden taste of the beer, wrinkling her nose at the taste. No wonder her father always said that wine was more tasteful; it was certainly more sweet. The twenty year old leaned back, breathing in the cool, brisk night air. She was strangely tall for her age, maybe five-foot-nine, with long, sleek black hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall, light bronze skin that glowed under the moonlight, though some acne scars were visible along the sides of her forehead, expertly concealed by her hair. Her eyes were a strange yellow-brown “owl-like eyes” wide and doe like. She was pretty, but she was scarily thin. No fault of hers, despite everyone telling her to eat more. Leira sighed softly, smoothing out her blouse. Maybe she dressed up too much for this event.

“Oh, hey, have you seen Vanessa?”

She whirled around in surprise, despite recognizing the voice. _Anthony. _A friend, a mystery, an infuriating mystery, infuriatingly handsome, Vanessa’s cousin, and much more. Deep hazel eyes met hers and a calm, placid smile graced his lips. He was tall, maybe six-foot-one or six-foot-two, with dark skin, silky black hair neatly combed, a handsome face, a peculiar birthmark or scar (She hadn’t figured out which yet) in the shape of crescent not he back of his neck, thick eyebrows, a faint Brazilian accent, and a moss green sweater paired with jeans.

“. . . Where did you come from?” Leira demanded, though she tried to speak as calmly as possible, her free hand leaning haphazardly on the balcony railing.

“Places, why are you here instead of where the people are?”

“People repel me.”

“Even me?”

She paused. How did their conversation flow so nicely? So smoothly? What made her so comfortable around him? Him who she could never understand yet he understood her perfectly?

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” she said stiffly, turning back around to the view. “She’s dancing with some loser named, hm, I think Char.”

“. . . You mean Charlie?”

“No, he said his name was Char. Or at least, his nickname.”

“Hm, she sounds like she’s in good hands.”

Leira only shrugged, quiet.

Never give anything away. Even if she could see the creatures prowling around in the distance, she had to keep her composure. Never let them know what’s on you mind.

A mantra that haunted her mind day and night, even when she was preoccupied with other matters.

But somehow, Anthony could understand her better than her own best friend.

“You seem lonely up here,” he remarked dryly, stepping up beside her and leaning against the railing; his hair almost camouflaged against the dark canvas of night.

“Solitide is less stressful than conversation.”

“That is true. Solitude means you can be as unfiltered as you want,” he sighed softly, running his fingers along the painted balcony railing. “The idea is freeing.”

Leira paused, her gaze softening at his interptation. “That’s how I’ve always viewed it. However, without a little sound, solitude can be suffocating.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yes, you see, I find that without any noise, it’s just a void of you being—“ she stopped herself and sat up straight, crying out defensively. “Why am I telling you all of this?!”

“. . . Because we’re friends?” Anthony said slowly.

Friends.

That didn’t seem to correlate with the way her eyes tended to gaze upon him a little bit longer than when it came to friends, how she noticed every little subtle difference in his appearance, how she felt a strange sense of ease around him, and how he so easily encouraged her to relax and be . . . .

Be . . .

. . .

Vulernable.

So she scoffed, putting up a mask. “Don’t think we’re friends. We’re just acquaintances,” she said firmly. She had to keep everyone as much as she could at an arm length’s distance. She wasn’t able to do so with Caleb and Vanessa as much as she would liked to—partially because she was already so deep in friendship with them, it would been jarring to split the friendships. To end them. It would have indefinitely been suspicious.

At least, that was the reason she liked to tell herself. She only admitted to the second reason years later; “I didn’t want to get rid of them. I couldn’t lose more than I already had.”

But she lost them either way, oth of them so much more busy with their own lives to put too much attention towards her. She hung along the edge, there with them and also not there with them. She sighed and shook her head, waiting for Anthony’s response but . . . Nothing.

He was just looking at her thoughtfully, a flicker of curiosity in those deep pools of hazel, flecks of green, amber, brown, gold and so much more dusting his irises. A shiver went down her spine at his inquisitive, observant gaze. How did he do that? How did he manage to pull her into that gaze with such ease?

“You know,” Anthony started with a chuckle. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

That was not the response she was expecting. Not the response at all. She stilled, the grip on her drink tightening as she looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you realize? You switch up so quickly, Leira,” why did she like the way he said her name? “One minute you’ll telling me all about your inter thoughts, opinions, emotions, the next you close yourself off, shutting everyone out,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he reiterated.

_I’ve never met anyone like you before, I’ve never met anyone like you before, I’ve never met anyone like you before. _

__

He had never met a girl so trapped in her family’s dynamic and arguments and problems while struggling to remain perfect in the eyes of the public. He had never met a girl so closed off and isolated from the world because of her fatal loyalty. He had never met a girl like her because she wasn’t a girl anymore.

She was a future criminal, a future killer, a future secret keeper, a future monster.

“You should be grateful for that,” she whispered softly.