Against_All_Odds

This night was supposed to be different. A relaxed gathering with my boyfriend and our friends, not this-scrubbing blood from the floor, meticulously erasing any trace of my presence. The sight of blood alone turned my stomach; I'd already lost my lunch and breakfast on these tiles, yet I felt another wave of nausea rising.

Conflict went against my very being, so how I'd ended up in a physical fight with the dead girl I'd later have to dispose of was beyond me. Finding out Liam was cheating hit me like a physical blow. After everything I'd done for him-constantly at his beck and call, prioritising his needs like some damn servant-this was his repayment? Maybe this was the price of being too nice.

I'd honestly envisioned a lifetime together; turns out, I was barking up the wrong tree entirely. It wasn't my fault she was dead. I simply stood at the top of the stairs, listening to her venomous words, her scathing critique of me mingled with glowing praise for Liam's bedroom skills. Fury welled up inside me, a natural reaction, but my aversion to confrontation kept it bottled up, the mark of a well-mannered person.

Annoyed by my apparent lack of emotion, she took it upon herself to play judge, jury, and executioner, lunging to push me down the steep flight of stairs. Ironically, my death or accusations of attempted murder would have been easily swept under the rug, given her family's wealth. Luckily, my reflexes were faster.

I sidestepped, and the force of her shove sent her tumbling down the stairs. The sickening crack of bone breaking echoed through the house. She lay sprawled on the floor, eyes wide and vacant, a dark puddle of blood blooming around her head. Panic seized me. I bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time-a disastrous decision that nearly sent me sprawling like her. Damn it. Stupid rich people and their Harry Potter staircases. No offence to anyone, but why couldn't they just be straight? What have I done?

My first instinct was to call the police, but logic swiftly intervened. This would look like a crime of passion. Everyone knew about Liam's infidelity, establishing jealousy as my motive. Adding fuel to the fire, our earlier argument had been explosive; if our friend hadn't intervened, we might have killed each other, and I'd even thrown out a few death threats. Being a black woman wouldn't help either. It was hard enough for someone like me to report a crime and have it properly investigated without greasing some palms.

Refusal meant the crime essentially never happened. The law wasn't on my side. Calling the police was out of the question. I had to fix this myself, and fast, before someone wondered why we were still alive or at each other's throats again. Paranoia, fuelled by an unhealthy obsession with crime shows and murder mysteries, took over. I wasn't completely clueless, but that didn't lessen the horror of what had transpired.

Veronica had been undeniably beautiful. A petite, curvy five-foot-six figure with an undeniable allure, she naturally drew attention. Her cute heart-shaped face, icy blue eyes, and fair skin made her a vibrant, adventurous soul. In every conceivable way, we were polar opposites, from our skin tone to our personalities. So, discovering she was the one Liam was cheating with sent me spiralling. Who wouldn't? It felt like an endless barrage of bitch slaps from Mike Tyson.

...An hour earlier...

"Thanks so much for inviting us, Cole," I smiled at my childhood friend, our secret handshake a familiar comfort.

Many assumed Cole and I were destined to be together, but our connection wasn't romantic. Nora Ephron wrote, "Men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way," but Cole and I made it work. Sure, there was a brief period I harboured a crush on him, and his "little sister" dismissal stung, but we remained steadfastly platonic.

Cole was a six-foot Greek god with a bronze complexion and curly hair I loved to run my fingers through. Beyond his dazzling smile and lean physique, his most captivating feature was his hazel eyes, which seemed to capture your soul and shone with an infectious joy. He was a golden retriever in human form, rarely angered, his laid-back nature a constant. However, badmouth his family, and you'd face the wrath of a jacked-up pit bull.

"Like I wouldn't invite you to my party," he chuckled, a faint scent of nicotine clinging to him.

Cole's Achilles' heel was his drug habit-marijuana, coke, bath salts, you name it, he likely had it stashed somewhere on his person. My attempts to steer him away had ended in explosive arguments, so I'd reluctantly backed off, unwilling to create more conflict.

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes, recalling the time he'd forgotten to invite me because he was high before the party even started.

"The crew's out back, getting wasted," he informed us, pulling out a bud and lighting it. This was his usual invitation to make ourselves at home, just try not to get lost in his sprawling vacation mansion.

"He's bound to overdose anytime now," Liam muttered under his breath, making my teeth clench.

Liam and Cole had a mutual dislike, and Liam never truly grasped the depth of my platonic affection for Cole. Liam was possessive, needing everything his way, and if he didn't get it, the "my dad's the mayor" card would come out, turning your life into a living hell.

He was about Cole's height, an inch shorter, with sea-foam eyes, a sculpted face, and black hair. I'd been told countless times what a catch Liam was, that I'd found "the one," my personal favourite being the old lady who called him a "bootylicious angel from the heavens." Publicly, he was charming and said all the right things, but behind closed doors, he'd do a complete one-eighty.

His constant phone or laptop use was concerning, the perfunctory "I love yous," and the bland pecks felt hollow. It was like I was a dog he'd acquired but didn't want to get rid of, offering only the bare minimum of affection. He wasn't the kindest man I'd ever dated, and I often wondered why I stayed. I knew I deserved better, yet I couldn't leave. He'd manipulated me into believing he couldn't live without me, and every attempt at a meaningful conversation about our future was met with empty promises, which I'd foolishly fall for, leading to sex that conveniently erased the entire discussion.

"Eyy, here comes the couple of the century!" one of Liam's stoned friends slurred.

"Sup, Bobby," Liam greeted him with a bro hug.

"Harley Quinn and the Joker, woohoo!" another high guy whooped, arms raised.

"Hey, Liam," Veronica purred seductively at my boyfriend, but I bit back my rage.

Believe it or not, they were also high school friends, and Liam never got jealous of Cole, so I had no right to be jealous of her. That didn't mean I liked her any more than I liked the idea of drinking a shit smoothie. Veronica was the quintessential Barbie girl, always trying to outshine every other woman, flaunting her assets, all bought and paid for by her wealthy father. At twenty-seven, she was still a spoiled brat who needed everything her way, hence her persistent attempts to flirt with Liam, despite his numerous rejections.

"What took you guys so long?" Chad, our Native American friend, asked.

"Batman ain't no easy foe, my friend," Liam joked, plopping onto an empty camp chair and motioning for me to sit on his lap with a lazy smile-a transparent attempt to project a happy couple image we didn't possess. I sat down and accepted the beer he offered, needing the buzz to endure the night.

The evening began uneventfully, the usual chill gathering of our group: me, Liam, Cole, Veronica, Michi, Chad, and Lila (Chad's girlfriend), who couldn't make it. Cole had also invited some of his smoking buddies. Lila was practically my best friend, and I was disappointed she wasn't there. I planned to give her an earful for leaving me alone with this pack of wolves.

"Guys, we need more drinks!" Veronica exclaimed dramatically, as if it were the most brilliant idea ever. She was a lightweight; one bottle and she was already tipsy. I swear she got drunk just from the smell of alcohol.

"Yess, more drinks," Bobby happily slurred, struggling to keep his head upright before giving up and resting it on the chair.

"Someone come with me, 'cause the basement's kinda creepy," she whined, her pout instantly garnering the attention of every guy.

"I'll come with you," Liam volunteered.

Of course, he would.

He always rushed to her defence like some knight in shining armour. Sometimes I suspected something more than friendship between them, or maybe it was just my paranoia.

"Ten bucks says they're going to fuck in there," Bobby laughed with Michi once Liam and Veronica were out of earshot.

Since I wasn't a heavy drinker and carefully monitored my alcohol intake, I often became quiet, observing everyone like a hawk. Sometimes the gang would forget I was even there. Thanks for the heads-up, Bobby. I knew something felt off about those two. I abruptly stood, drawing the bewildered gazes of Michi and Bobby.

"Harley, when did you get here?" Michi asked awkwardly. I didn't answer, storming into the house.

"You imbecile!" Bobby smacked Michi as I disappeared inside.

A raw, unfamiliar rage consumed me, turning me into a runaway war machine. To my utter surprise, Liam and Veronica weren't in the cellar. I headed upstairs, intending to check the bedrooms, only to freeze at the sight of them making out at the top of the stairs, not even bothering to find a room.

Unbelievable.

Veronica was pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around Liam's waist as he grinned against her. Her arms were around his neck, one hand roughly pulling his hair. The sheer passion of their kiss made my stomach churn. Her kiss was rough, desperate, but he seemed to relish the treatment, moaning into her mouth. I angrily charged up the stairs, yanking Liam away from Veronica, who landed hard on her backside with a thud.

"Shit!" she cursed, seeing the daggers I was glaring at her. Shit is right. I couldn't believe what I'd just witnessed.

They couldn't even wait until I left to keep their hands off each other. How had I landed in this mess? Maybe I should have stayed with Michi and Bobby instead of searching for them. The raw hurt was like a hot knife twisting in my heart.

I shouldn't have come here. Ignorance had been absolute bliss. Now that I knew the truth, I had no choice but to leave him, facing the deafening silence of a small, lonely apartment until the day I died. I hated being alone, that's probably why I'd stayed with Liam, even though he exploited my emotions. Wasn't I doing the same, craving his presence at all times?

If I pretended not to see their affair, I'd still have Liam, making my apartment a little less lonely. He'd continue his affair, using me when he needed me, and I'd use him to fill the void in my heart. It was a convenient arrangement for all of us. Who would be hurt if we all knew what the other truly desired, if all the cards were on the table? Isn't that how marriage sometimes works? If you fall out of love but don't want a divorce, you find the little things to love until eventually, they're enough to hold it together.