How can some things be wrong but feel so right at the same time?

Why do people easily judge others by their past or mistakes as if they have never done anything wrong?

What could be the rightmost thing to be considered acceptable and decent enough for this society?

People have hundreds -- thousands of questions. Some who are extra courageous seek answers. If not, perhaps, a bit near to answer their hows and whys, which could make them satiated would work just fine. Others, who should not be labeled less courageous—somewhat they were those who were comfortable with what life is giving them, might be contented enough to not ask for more—seek for some more.

“Have you heard of Noel's daughter? That kid's pregnant by a university student,” the man's voice was one of the things she's used to hearing every dinner on a Sunday. He wasn't talking to anyone in particular but her mom and herself alone could hear every word. “You know what the kid answered to him? They're in love,” he scoffs as his hands continue to slice the piece of beef on the plate. Tristen only swallows her food, not bothering to chew them unintentionally. “They're fooled by their hormones.”

Tristen, from that moment, had realized that even someone so close to her could belong to those people who stick up their noses in others’ lives and that she would be one of the courageous ones. She wanted to perceive things. Not to completely understand, but to get a glimpse of things just so she could be more empathetic. She wanted to be empathetic just to end up being one of the people who would be the ones to suffer from the weight of others' words and vices.

I wanna know just how to love you, the Jewel of California.

I wanna skip stones on your skin boy. Hold tight and love me longer.

“Angelface,” the hoarse voice of the other made her eyes open. She looks at him under a dark gaze that matches his drunk-like expression, and a hand comes to hold the side of his face. “No. I won’t ask you to stop, ‘Ji. No way in hell,” she whispers next to his mouth and bites lightly on his chin. Tristen knows that reaction­—had it known for many long months. Even under the dimmed light, she sees how he swallows his sounds, not letting Tristen that she gets through him. But the next thing he does was to flash that wide grin, a hand then presses her side and a chaste kiss landed on Tristen’s neck. “No stopping. Right, angelface.”

My boy like a queen, unlike one you’ve ever seen.

He knows how to love me better.

She could only wish happiness was easy to touch... Could only wish she was courageous enough to perceive this type of situation she got herself into.

“I love you,” the buzzcut guy lifts his face before letting those painful words come out of his sinful pair of lips. The background music that was left playing perhaps was one of the things Tristen could point out so she can pretend no confession just happened but she had heard it crystal clear.

A hit of dopamine­ —higher than I’ve ever been.

He knows how to love me better.

You're safe like springtime.

Short days, long night, boy.

Vacations and holidays were the events most of the students anticipated. Especially during summer. Getaways like swimming trips or other types were always planned ahead, of course. School work is exhausting even for an elementary student.

“Hello. Earth to Kenny,” her friend Bella, sings-songs and waves a hand in front of her face. She returns her approach with a smile and looks at her as if she's watching. “Finals! Ahhhhh!” Bella squeals as she swirls, the effect it has on her mini skirt was cute and Tristen only smiles wider. People really are excited for it. Who won't, right? “Ah, come on! Don't tell me your dad's going to bring you again to that boring lake house.”

Tristen only looks at her, tightlipped and Bella sighs.

“Okay. At least you did not tell me,” she sits on the former's desk and combs her black shoulder level layered hair. Tristen appreciates the sweet little gesture. “Can't you just tell your dad to bring you somewhere else?” The question made Tristen shake her head. “No, I can't. Mom and dad have loved that place since the ancient times. They had their honeymoon there. I was born there. And the other eventful things that my dad wishes to cherish for his lifetime,” she sighs after she answers the question. “Sorry, Bels. Maybe next time.”

When their professor arrived, they took the exam and Tristen had to stay after to help the professor.

“It makes me sad that after an academic year, my best student council president will have to leave,” Mrs. Andres sighs and Tristen beams. “I've not been the president for almost a term, Ma'am. Mina grimaces whenever you say that and she's around,” the older woman only smiles and looks at her. “Still, I'm thankful for your service. And for other things including this weird friendship,” the younger one chuckles at her. “This isn't weird, Ma'am.”

They shared a smile knowing they both recalled that they didn't just find a friend in the form of one another but the younger saw her as her mom just like how the older saw her as her late daughter.

After they finished arranging the papers, Tristen left with a present from her favorite professor. She can only open it once she's home. Mrs. Andres told her it's a congratulatory gift since Tristen is now a senior college student.

Once she arrived home, her dad was in the garage so she helped herself to snacks and sat on the sofa. Her low waist jeans were helpful when she removed her thin sweater so she stays with her tank top. Cookies and milkshakes are her to go snacks because she believes she would never get old for them. She spends some minutes watching until her dad approaches.

“My dearest,” his dad leaves a kiss atop of her head before he goes in front of her. “Tomorrow, I'll go to the town to check up on grandma then the following day, we'll leave for the lake house. Yeah?” Tristen nods and smiles. “Don't watch too many cartoons. You're not a kid anymore,” he ruffled her hair. “Says the one who said he'll cry once I bring a guy home claiming as well that I'd forever be his baby.”

It wasn't long when her dad went back to his garage and Tristen's left alone once more. Her eyes fell on the kitchen counter where she had left her messenger style bag together with the present. She stands up to get the present and tries to ignore her phone which flashes a message notification.

Her gift was a nice sage green halter summer dress which flows three fingers above her knees. Tristen swirls like what Bella did just two hours ago and smiles at Mrs. Andres' thoughtfulness. She runs from her bedroom back to the kitchen counter to send her a message.

When her phone vibrates against the coffee table, she sees that it's a message from Mrs. Andres so she doesn't bother to open it anymore. Accidentally, her eyes land on the glass surface of the door towards her dad's garden and she sees her reflection. She doesn't like it. She dislikes seeing herself in the mirror— dislikes seeing what she's expected to dress and act.

Because at times like this, she will just realize more how freedom is almost impossible for her. Tristen looks up to her parents, and she would never forget how she should be thankful for giving her the basic needs a child may need or want but there were times she wishes they would trust her like how they'd been telling everyone. A little bit of trust that she wouldn't do things which could lead to mistakes.

Her dad keeps on telling her that she's smart, but Tristen thinks not smart enough to decide by herself and choose the clothes she wants to wear. Or to pick friends she wants to hangout with. Deciding what kind of guys she wants to be with would be nice too.

Well, one and a half years ago, she was planning to escape from her parents' strict guidance— maybe do something a bit reckless for once. But her mom had become bedridden because of ****** cancer and soon passed away. Tristen knows better than to be selfish. She had to be with her dad, and occasionally see her grandma because they were all mourning for her mom.

Befriending Bella was the least she can do to be her real self but to the lowest degree. Although in the past months, she hasn't revealed everything to her friend yet. Thinking she'd say Tristen's crazy for her ideas. But like what people say, when someone has been caged for a long time, they are thirsty for what they're deprived of and it'll be hard for them to get sated.

She tears her eyes off the glass and looks at her  neck instead where her mom's necklace was that she got from her when she passed away. Tattoos, she imagines having them near her collarbone. One of the things Tristen badly wanted to have but she can't, because her dad told her that it's unhealthy and that she won't be able to donate blood for some time which the girl does from time to time. Maybe when she's in her 30s, she can finally decide to get it. Maybe.

Another buzz from her phone cuts her train of thoughts and she gets a warm sensation against her face when she sees a certain name pop out on her notifications.

From: Z.

Summer time, u down?

Her heart sinks. Okay. Perhaps her heart should not react that way in the first place. But now that she remembers it, Tristen stands up and heads to her bedroom to pack some of her clothes and change to her usual getup at home. By dinnertime, her dad arrives with a box of pizza.

“Dad. I cooked,” she slowly shakes her head and her dad only offers her an apologetic smile. “Don't worry, darling. I will eat what you cooked first then we can watch something you'll pick as we eat this pizza,” he cocks his brow and waits for her answer which she can never turn down. “That slaps.”

The man looks at her with a puzzled face.

“Er, uh, I mean, yeah? I'd like that,” she turns around to gather the cutleries and when she faces her dad, Tristen knows she has to say something again. “I probably watched too many American movies,” she shrugs when her dad only nods and adds his final comment. “Too much that you sounded like some Californian guy or something.”

They laughed at that. Tristen mentally curses herself with her weird responses. And as planned, they watched some John Wick as they munch on the pizza her dad bought. After that, Tristen cleaned up and his dad slept, a bit fuzzy while he talked again about the summer vacation because of the beer.

The next day turned out fine, she turned off her android phone where all her group chats were and got her other phone to log in on her social media accounts. Her dad knows about her other phone because he was the one who bought it but questioned why Tristen needed another phone.

Well, the sole purpose of it was because her android phone was for her 'good girl' side and the other was for her other character. Her phone which contains Tristen's thoughts, the type of people she envies because of their freedom and her photos which her dad might not like for one bit.

Twitter was one of her favorite apps but nothing tops Instagram although Snapchat was also charming because of its cute filters. She did not expect the amount of notifications bombing her phone but the girl was only interested in seeing a message from one certain guy.

Zeji's name appears at topmost of her chatlist next to Bella's and Tristen was not eager to open the conversation thread now that she was left on 'seen' by the boy. Instead, she watches his Instagram stories. Ah, that was the reason for his text message. He'd already arrived.

The next few hours were spent on messaging back to her left unread messages and leaving replies to people who left comments on her latest IG post. It's not like she's a conceited person but she appreciates and sometimes feels flattered with the compliments she receives.

When her android phone vibrates, Tristen reaches for it and answers without too much thought because she was in the mood.

“Hello?” She greets first with a smile and hears a short chuckle followed by someone clearing their throat. “When did you learn how to greet?” His mocking voice came and her reaction was quick. “Kidding. Sup, Angelface?” he chuckles again and Tristen composes herself to respond. “Fine until you.”

“Ooh. Feisty. Like that for you,” his annoying tone sends vibration in Tristen's ears towards her bones. “Is that all? I'm hanging up,” she confirms with an unfriendly tone. “I don't think that's how you should answer someone you're friends—”

Call ended.

Tristen shuts her phone down and sighs. Maybe she shouldn't have started that thing at all. Now, she knows that whenever it's vacation or holiday, she would have to meet that guy.

She should've known better. Tristen is smart, isn't she?

June had become her favorite month of the year for the past years since she attended university. Summer vacation and the likes. Tristen has always enjoyed her parents' presence and how her mom would make them delicious meals because it was her passion.

No one can say no to her mom's cooking ability that even when she had pictured herself to party with Bella, Tristen still spent her summer with her parents. Sadly, her restaurant had to be closed because her dad was more interested in his craft as a retired major general who campaigns for his 'allies' than to manage what his wife had left.

Last Summer turned gloomy when she passed away, months after she was diagnosed with an untreatable level of cancer. Like what Tristen's mom had wished, her remaining days were spent on that lake house Tristen and her dad's heading to.

But if Tristen was to consider which month she'll choose as her favorite, her answer would be whichever of those twelve. It doesn't matter anymore.

“We're close, darling,” her dad moves some hair strands covering the left side of her face and she fakes waking up. Well, she had to fake her sleep just so Tristen can avoid conversation with her dad about her mom. “Hmm, thanks,” she smiles and looks at the road to see what the man had just said.

Minutes later, she sees the familiar cabin house. She helped with unloading the car and went straight to her assigned room for some nap. Thankfully, her dad lets her until lunch time.

“We'll go over the Garcia's in two hours. Did you sleep well?” A nod of head was her response as she dragged her feet towards the kitchen. It was only ten so coffee won't be that bad. “Which should I cook, Dad?” she can't help but ask when the man doesn't leave her sight yet. He laughs before answering, “Cobb salad and Tri-tip would be very much appreciated. I marinated the beef while you took your nap.”

Like what she's been doing for all her life, she grants the man's words. While she takes a quick shower, Tristen lets her dad finish the cooking and she grabs a pair of faded straight cut jeans to pair it with a simple basil green Chinese collar blouse. And of course, her pointed toe flat shoes. Once more, she has to look at the mirror and ends up grimacing at her getup. Totally not her.

“All ready?” her dad asks once they're out in the car and Tristen looks at the basket seated on the backseat containing what she cooked and a bottle of white wine. “Jaime's stepson will be there again. He's a bit of 'meh' but her mom is nice, so must be him,” her dad comically makes a face when he described Zeji and she feels strange with the way it sounded taunting. She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes and she smiles warmly instead. “Sure he is.”

Entering the French door wasn't something strange to Tristen but it kind of sent her a funny feeling under her heart. A little tug here and there which indicates that she's getting antsy because of that one person.

They were greeted by the head of the house, Jaime, who was Tristen's godfather figure. He hugs and greets them then she is escorted by the helper even when she perfectly knows her way in and out of the familiar mansion.

Once alone, she sprawls herself on the bed, her back meeting the soft mattress Tristen had grown accustomed to since she'd always spent a week here before they went to their lake house which was a hundred meter away from where she currently is.

The buzz on her second phone keeps her from dozing off and she sighs upon seeing Bella's fresh photo showing she's in Amanpulo—not with her family but with her circle of friends.

She stretches her arms to move the phone away from her but when it buzzes again, Tristen was quick to grab it.

From: Z.

Meet u by dinner, angelface.

If Tristen was mentally absent in front of three elders, no one hardly noticed it. Her dad was busy talking about politics and other things Tristen wishes he's not into. With the way Tristen's father had displayed her like she's one of his outstanding achievements and awards for years, no one would not get tired of it.

“Oh, here goes my son,” Jaime uses his hand to gesture towards Zeji, whose left hand was still on the doorknob and he smiles sheepishly upon seeing them, especially her. Tristen doesn't let her eyes watch for long since her dad took notice of his gaze towards her. “He's currently one of the lineups for this year's Fall&Winter fashion week. D&G personally contacted him,” his mom stands up to meet him halfway. Her dad now looks at the mother and son, and Tristen smiles at his mom. “He's also planning to go back to university.”

That, the last sentence was immediately denied by Zeji once she was pulled inside his bedroom. His sturdy chest against her lithe back and the way his hand was on her waist sent a spark against her skin.

“Why does my stepfather think he owns me just because he's married to my mom?” he asks in a hushed tone as he uses his other hand to cup her chin with a bit of weight. With the force she has, Tristen struggles out of his hold and glares at the alcohol consumed guy. How he managed to not look drunk in front of the adults minutes ago must be his talent. “I'm going. You're drunk and I'm not going to deal with you,” she turned her heel quickly but her arm was caught just as fast. “Who's drunk?”

“Not me, obviously,” she removed her arm from his hold and was unsuccessful on it so she didn't waste any more energy. “What do you want?” Tristen's unenergetic tone wasn't inevident. The guy only smiles tauntingly at her as his other hand travels on her side. “Aren't you giddy that your **** buddy's here?”

Her hand flies on his mouth in speed and how her uninterested face becomes suddenly wary sends Zeji to crack a wider grin. First of all, she wasn't exactly giddy seeing him, especially at his tipsy state. Secondly, they don't ****. They just mess around, and that was just for a couple of days in summer, or maybe a bit in hid winter holiday. Lastly, there's nothing more. Honestly, she can't think of anything more.

With her thoughts being cut, Tristen grimaces at how his teeth had wet her palm and Zeji sticks out his tongue to lick her skin unprovoked.

“Fuck you, asshole! You're fucking gross!” In return, she wipes her hand on his fitted black T-shirt. When her gaze meets his, Tristen only sees his shit-eating grin and she wishes to wipe it off right now. Except that he always takes the best timings and does the things Tristen doesn't know she likes. “I'll shut you up,” he whispers against her mouth and closes the gap between them with every word he says. Zeji never started any of their kisses with the kiddish type and always goes with open-mouthed kisses. Eager mouth meets his and he welcomes her wholeheartedly with the same enthusiasm as he cups her jaw to keep her on an angle. “Ooh. Angel greets this way,” Tristen slaps his shoulders as he said that against the skin of her neck, kissing and wetting it with his digustingly experienced tongue. “Angelface, hop on. Let's take this to my bed,” his hoarse voice must've done it because the glint on Tristen's eyes suddenly changed.

Actually, no, Zeji just said that. But it was actually Tristen who rules their setup most of the time and she never lets herself be brought under the sheets. Not by him nor the other guys, he thinks, if ever she has other men. It's either on the couch or by the hammock outside his room.

This time, she chooses to settle on his couch, particularly straddling Zeji's lap. Either of her legs on each side and the guy dares to feel her thighs but the bite Tristen does on his mouth means she's not fond of it. Not now. The former only closes his eyes with force, knowing that if he chose to watch what she's doing, he might lose against his own sanity and flip the fearless woman.

“Kenny,” the man calls out for her nickname when she licks the roof of his mouth. The response was another bite on his bottom lip and he groaned when he felt her hands by the hem of his T-shirt. He removes the piece of clothing and waits for her to do something more but it never came so he opted to open his eyes. “Not my nickname,” she whispers and Zeji only nods, his eyes almost getting lost with hers. But then her hands traveled to his shoulders, indicating they're back to the business. Zeji closes his eyes once again. “I will give you a hand tonight. You're being more handful when you're tipsy.”

Again, Zeji can only nod. That night, he let her do everything she wanted to and did not move much of his muscles unless the woman on his lap asked him to.

The next morning, his insufferableness was gone and his usual cocky vibe was back. Tristen's dad was again all over the couple and so she was left to put up with the guy's mostly nonsensical stories.

“Seriously, do you think I'm listening to you?” She removes the book out of her sight, along with the phone where she's truthfully reading. The man in question only shrugs. “You're hopeless,” she blocks her sight again with the phone and the book, but the man grabs them both. With panic, her eyes looked around to check if any of the elders saw their position. It's nothing suspicious. It's just his right hand near her left side, and the other one which had just pulled what she's reading. “Let's go somewhere else. It's pretty boring here.”

Angelface likes the beau's face. In general, she likes beautiful things. But his beauty is one of those outstanding ones, not because of his perfectly angled nose, nor his slightly chiseled jaw. It was his eyes. Or maybe it's the way he wears his clothes, but his buzz cut must've gotten her too. Actually, Tristen wasn't very sure which tops all of them.

“Angelface, you're staring again,” his right hand finally moves to cup the side of her face to thumb the high of her cheek. She only shakes her head as the answer. “Why not?” he whispers when he gets near her ear, barely biting it because he's still testing the waters. “Not in broad daylight, asshole!” She weakly pushed his chest, and the man had the audacity to grin wide. He shakes his head in amusement and stands up, with the book in his hand. “Ah, tch. Almost forgot I am the perfect girl's dirty secret.”

Tristen can only swallow the lump in her throat with the way he teases and mocks her at the same time. He carefully puts the book down, walks backwards with his two arms raised as if he showcases that he had surrendered.

As if on cue, Bella suddenly calls her. She's thankful that she doesn't have to dwell on her 'wrong doings' once more, like how her dad labels them.

“Kenny!” her voice blasts in the open air of the hut Tristen is lying in. She smiles and does a small wave of her hand while her eyes focus on her friend's outfit in the mirror. “Wow! Really, wow!” she exclaims at Bella's cutout orangey-red monokini that she proudly told the former to receive from her boyfriend. “Thanks,” she giggles and turns the camera of her phone to the front view.

“You know what, one day, we'd be able to go out like this. Me and Kenny, with or without boyfriends would be nice,” Bella smiles with a glint of hope that her friend also plans that. “Maybe. If someone would have the courage— insane amount of courage to face my dad. But right now, let me enjoy my me time like how I've been doing my whole life.” Both girls laughed at that. “Right now, too, let me enjoy this freedom for the both of us. I promise to have fun,” Bella smiles with both his lips tightened, her cheekbones giving a very pure look. “Thanks, Bels. Call me whenever you feel like it. Enjoy!”

Tristen huffs. Now that she's alone, she thinks some noise would not be bad. But the only source of noise was gone, now that he's joined the kids trying to catch a variety of flies fifty meters from the hut.

The lonely girl thinks, if she sends him a text message, would he think she's being needy? Or perhaps, attention seeker? Nevermind. Tristen feels lonely and bored now that she's lost interest with the interesting memes on twitter.

To: Z.

Your room. Quick.

Once the message had been sent, she gathered both of her phones and the book, along with the Ray ban he let her wear because the light from the sun was too much to bear.

As she walks towards the power scooter she insists on trying as she spots Zeji's mother using it, Tristen leaves a message to her dad that she has a headache as an excuse. When did she learn how to use it? A certain Californian guy was behind it. The ride towards the mansion was quick since it was only a hundred meter distance. She goes into his bedroom and decides not to lock it since Tristen knows he'll arrive soon.

It wasn't long when she felt shuffling by the door and Tristen did not bother to look at it when seconds after, his hands were wrapped on her waist already, a kiss on her jaw soon followed.

“I knew you couldn't resist me,” he whispers as he nips on her neck. Her hands were still on either of her sides, her thoughts traveling somewhere that she did not completely comprehend what he had just said. Zeji moves his hand to get one of hers and tangles them together. “What do you wanna do?” he props his chin on her shoulder and watches her unwavering gaze to nowhere. “Tristen… Angelface? Kenny.”

She finally snaps her head towards his, a crease on her forehead was formed. The man knows for sure that when a woman is still silent, something is happening. That's for sure.

“What'd you call me for?” he asks with a slightly serious tone, discomfort grows between them as seconds pass by without her saying anything and he finally removes his chin off her shoulder. Still, the woman looks at him as if trying to bore holes against his face. Zeji just feels she doesn't need him for a makeout session this time. “We can sit. C'mon,” he tugs her with their tangled hands but she doesn't move. A sigh badly wants to get out of his mouth but he doesn't. “Okay. We stand together.”

“When was the last time you hooked up with another girl?” she suddenly asks and the way he jolts make her stare at his eyes deeper. “I can't recall,” he answers truthfully. “Why?” She only shrugs and pulls her hand off of his hold and her eyes fell on his tattooed hand. “I told you months ago that you should take me so you can be more satisfied when we hook up. You're stupid,” she harshly says but her face was still expressionless.

“You only say that because you think it's part of you secretly taking your freedom but it's not,” his hand moves to press her waist and she feels him shake his head as he says the last words. Zeji attempts to look at her eyes but Tristen was too stubborn for him. Seconds later, Tristen pinches his right cheek, expecting to get a reaction. “What? Do you also believe that it's the most precious gift a woman can give to her marital partner?” He then shrugs and the woman scoffs with disbelief, trying  to completely get herself off his hold. “You're being double douchebag with that stupid belief.”

Zeji was quick to react and removed the crease in between her eyebrows then cups the side of her cheek. What he has observed about this woman was that she dislikes it when someone contrasts what she believes in, or when someone besides her dad tries to say 'no' with what she wants to happen. With her dad being around her most of the time and with his demanding requests or principles he wanted to put through his daughter's mind, Tristen only wanted someone who won't go against her when she voices her thoughts out.

“I never said anything about agreeing on that. But you must think through it,” he sighs when her hands work through under his t-shirt. Tristen knows her hands do magic when he shivers from a very simple gesture. “You've never been in love, you said. And what if in the future, that would be something you'd want to give that person but I already took it?” Her hands stopped midway from caressing his toned chest and meets his eyes as she bites her lustful lower lip. “You've been in love, haven't you? A girl gave you her first, thinking you would stick around forever and you didn'. But you realized you've fallen after things fell apart. Then you promised yourself to not ever take any other girl's first.”

Tristen can't comprehend if the boisterous laugh he lets out seconds after was because she's completely right or was the plot she had in mind too lame. But then he stops seconds later to claim her mouth and she only accepts his domination, just circles her arms around his neck as he backs them towards the riser, until the back of her knees touch the sheet of the bed. They were catching their breaths and trails of saliva both on their chins.

“Are you ready?” he enquires, as his hand moves to serve as her pillow, his right knee dipping on the bed, the other in between her legs. He watches her eyes go in panic, but Zeji doesn't show any reaction, not wanting to give the other what he has in mind. “On the couch. We can do it there,” Kendall whispers then immediately sits up, but she was stopped by a hand on her left shoulder. The other hand moves towards her now exposed thigh. “I would agree to take you if and only if we'll do it in bed.”

“What? What kind of deal was that?” she smacks his teasing hand and a scoff comes next to the sound of her hand. Zeji smiles, and if he witnesses the glint of horror in her eyes, his smile still won't falter. “That's my deal. If you think it's not going to hurt me as well, it will. It's either that or nothing, Angelface.” His smile fades slowly and Tristen only clenches her teeth. “Jokes on you, asshole. Proper ******** is the answer to that,” the girl smiles and leaks her lips, her eyes watching how his expression changed so she continues. “But as I recall, I have never been satisfied with my experiences with you.”

He stares at her with disbelief. Of course Zeji was hurt, his ego was hurt. He was straight down offended by her words. What now? The girl who just pushed her to the side rarely lets him lead. From the past five makeout sessions they've had, he was only able to nip on her chest, not even on those cherries.

“You have a weird rule 'Ji,” she holds his shoulder, almost straddling his hips but barely there, then shakes her head, a taunting smile across her sinister lips. He can only stare at her, wanting to explode but knows to himself that he would never take her first just because he was being mocked.

Zeji can't fathom the fact that maybe Tristen's guess was tad bit right. “It's okay. Maybe before my vacation ends, I can still find someone clean and is willing to do it with me on the couch,” Tristen leaves a chaste kiss almost on his mouth, which gave him chills. Another on his thick neck and bit it this time. Tease. “See you around.”

Angelface stands up, fixing her gray mini skirt along with her slightly crumpled white blouse. Zeji was expecting another mocking line, or maybe another teasing smile but it did not come.

“Fuck it.” Blue balls, he is.

Tristen goes back to her assigned bedroom and checks her phone. She sees some of her blockmates on their vacation and here she is, the plain boring girl living the life her dad wants her to.

The good girl, the perfect girl. A scoff comes out of her mouth. Good girls are bad girls who have not yet been caught. She doesn't want to, but what just happened reenters her mind.

Another memory of her dad saying something which she respected back then but now, she doesn't really care. Now she's thinking, how do the younger people feel once their mothers have passed away. If what she feels is somewhat only because of the grief. Or was it because of something else.

One more sigh and she falls splaying on the bed, her eyes landing soon towards the easel. There's an unfinished portrait of a nude woman on it, flowers in exchange of wavy hair, its head facing the other side, the eyes of whoever will see it won't get a glimpse of.

Tristen never considered herself an artist for the reason that her skills should not be compared to a professional one or because she has never finished any of her paintings. It's either one of the eyes was missing, there was the palm of the hand but no fingers or in this case, she has only finished until the shoulders. It might be weird or questionable, and she wonders about it herself too, why she has never finished any of them.

With half a heart, she walks towards it and sits down on the vanity chair she got from the bathroom to stare at the painting. Maybe a bit more flower to continue its body would be fine.

Great. Tristen said to herself, immediately changing her clothes to more simple ones. There were some flowers on the garden which she'd noticed last night and today's the most fitting time to visit it. With the easel and the coffee table as her makeshift chair, she put them all on the garden.

Marigold, she smiled bitterly at herself. Yellow, orange, and red hues— like the sun. Her mom once told her they represent joy and good luck. But right now, what she feels contrasts what her mom reminded her of the flowers. Grief, despair, and mourning.

Her hand shakily reaches out for the flat paint brush, dabs it on the mix of paint she has prepared minutes ago and starts making the hues of red and orange first. The angular brush comes next for the yellow hues of the flowers she has outlined for the woman's body. Since she had forgotten where she had placed the comb brush, the next lines were made for the original outline of the body.

Seconds turned into minutes, maybe even an hour or so. Her white T-shirt now messed up with some of the paints. Of course her hands weren't any less. The ray of sunlight was helpful for her imagination but not with how it makes the sweat trickle down her temple.

“Ah, if it isn't miss perfect,” the voice comes from above where the demon's son currently resides. “Apparently, angelface is also an artist. Wow!” a set of claps were heard next. Tristen closes her eyes and breathes out the irk growing on her mouth, wanting to spew some words. “Me is wondering what you can't do.”

His irritating tone gets the best of her, with his imitation of the latest snapchat she had yesterday about her favorite K-pop artist EXO's Kai. She looks up at him with disgust written on her face. Zeji only throws her a playful wink and raises the cup of whatever he's drinking.

“Can I join you there, babe?” he asks with another irking tone and Tristen wonders why she's still looking at him. “You don't have to reject me. I'll be there,” his smile only widens, and puts the cup against the marble handrail. “Wait for me, princess!”

His hand moves to his shoulders to remove his white T-shirt. And it's not like she's interested to know why Zeji was doing what he does, until her eyes forced themselves to close, a distinct sound follows, like how Tristen had imagined it. Then the boisterous laugh. She was a bit nervous to open her eyes but she did and saw Zeji, dressing himself up again as he got up from lying on the grass.

“Impressive, aren't I?” he walks close to her and she only looks up to him, not sure whether to curse him first or throw him the glass of water mixed with paint because she felt real nervous because of his clownery. “What? Did that make you speechless?” his hands land on each side of her shoulders and that's when she comes back to her senses. “That was stupid. There are stairs. It's not like I'm going to lock myself here.”

Zeji stays behind her, Tristen has been successful not to look up and see what his face looks at the moment.

“I know you're worried but I'm fine. It isn't high and I was not hurt,” he puts his other hand on her hair, an attempt to ruffle it but Tristen's hand was fast to dodge. “Go away. It's scorching hot,” her voice was static and felt his hands move away. “Hey, hey. You left and it's lonely here. I just need to be entertained.”

This is one of the things she can't stand about this guy. There were times when his use of words is out of her world. People like Tristen weren't much used to his kind. She stands up and gathers her things, the other only watches her, or maybe gawking at her once more unfinished work. 

“You're not done yet, are you?” He pushes the coffee table back to its position and sees Tristen shake her head 'no'. “Why? My presence distracts you?” he wiggles his eyebrows and puts on Tristen's most disliked smile when she looks at him. “You think so highly of yourself, man!” she clicks her tongue and rearranges the easel sliding from her hands. “It's self-love.”

He follows her upstairs, bubbling how it's so boring and how he could've just gone asleep since his mom was busy with his stepdad. Tristen did not mind because he offered to carry the paint brushes and easel. They arrived at the door of her bedroom and he's about to open it until she stops him.

“You do not enter my room, remember?” She opens the door and turns to him to grab the materials in his hands. “Now, to keep yourself entertained, why don't you message your other hookups?” Tristen looks at her field watch, gift from her dad. “It's past 12 here so it must be midnight there. Around 3, maybe? Go find someone you can sext with.”

It's rude, Tristen knows, but she shuts the door on his face. Within a  second, she regrets it but does nothing about it. She never liked being rude to people, because her parents never allowed that kind of attitude to embody her.

Should she cry? Or maybe shout? Every single thing, the littlest action just reminds Tristen of her parents. But, tons of thoughts would come soon, like how she should never feel mad or upset about her life because she was provided by every material thing a person might ever need.

Again, the angelic face of her mom crosses her mind. Maybe, she should've cried when they lost her. Or shouted because she'd be left alone with her dad and that would mean more strict rules.

Freedom would never be a choice to her. As long she lives with her dad. For as long as she can't find herself confronting her dad about his narcissism, Tristen could never be true to herself.