Chapter 2

The party was exactly as I remembered it from my past life. Loud music vibrated through the floor of the crowded off-campus house, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat. Red plastic cups were in everyone's hands. For a moment, the scene was so familiar it felt like a dream.

But the cold certainty in my gut told me this was real. I was back.

I stood near the wall, nursing a bottle of water, watching the scene unfold. It was a painful panorama of faces I once called friends. They were all there, orbiting the two brightest stars in their little universe: Mike and Sarah.

Then I saw them. Mike had his arm draped casually around Sarah's shoulders. She was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back. They looked like the perfect couple. To everyone else, Mike was just being a good friend, keeping my girlfriend company while I was being "antisocial." But I saw it for what it was. The easy intimacy. The proprietary way his hand rested on her. They weren't even trying to hide it.

The sight sent a jolt of the old pain through me, a phantom ache from a life I'd already lost. But it was quickly replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I wasn't that blind, trusting boy anymore. I saw every fake smile, every calculated glance.

I remembered how Mike had gotten the card in the first place. It wasn't a grand, dramatic moment. It was death by a thousand cuts, a slow erosion of boundaries.

"Hey, man, can I borrow your card?" he'd asked one day. "I want to take Sarah out to that new steakhouse, but my paycheck doesn't hit until Friday. I'll pay you right back."

I'd handed it over without a second thought. Of course he paid me back that first time. He was smart. He built the trust. The next time, it was for a textbook. Then for a "car repair." Soon, he just had the supplementary card "for emergencies," and the emergencies became daily occurrences. A shopping spree for Sarah was an "emergency" because she was "having a bad day." A weekend getaway was an "emergency" because they "needed to de-stress from midterms."

He never used his own money. Why would he, when he had an endless supply of mine?

My staring must have been too intense, because Mike's eyes met mine from across the room. He gave me a wide, friendly grin and started making his way through the crowd, pulling a reluctant Sarah with him.

"There you are, man!" he said, his voice booming over the music. "I was looking for you. We're all heading to 'Club Lux' after this. My treat, of course."

He winked, a subtle gesture that was meant to be between us, a reminder of whose money was actually paying for the "treat." In my past life, I would have smiled back, feeling a surge of pride that I could provide this for my friends.

Now, it just made me sick.

"No, thanks," I said, my voice flat.

Mike's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "What? Don't be like that. It'll be fun. Sarah wants to go." He nudged her, and she put on a pouting expression.

"Yeah, Liam," Sarah said, her voice a whiny drawl. "Don't be a buzzkill. We never go out anymore."

The hypocrisy was staggering. We never went out because she was always "busy" or "tired" - busy with Mike, tired from spending my money.

"I said no," I repeated, my gaze unwavering. "I'm not interested."

This was new territory for them. I had never said no before. I was the easygoing, agreeable Liam. The walking ATM.

Sarah's pout vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

"What is your problem?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp. "You've been acting weird all week. Are you seriously going to ruin our night just because you're in a bad mood?"

Her grip was surprisingly strong, a physical attempt to force my compliance. I looked down at her hand on my arm, then back up at her face. I didn't see the girl I thought I loved. I saw a greedy, entitled stranger.

I pulled my arm away from her grasp, not roughly, but with a firmness that made her stumble back a step.

"My problem," I said, my voice dangerously calm, "is that I'm done."

Before she could react, Mike stepped between us, his hands up in a placating gesture. He was in his element now, the mediator, the good guy.

"Whoa, whoa, let's all just take a breath," he said, shooting Sarah a warning look before turning to me with a look of deep, fake concern. "Liam, buddy, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me. You know that. Don't take it out on Sarah."

He put a hand on my shoulder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Look, I get it. Money's tight, right?" he said, as if he were my financial advisor. "Don't worry about the club. I'll cover you. That's what friends are for."

He was trying to emotionally blackmail me, to re-establish his role as the generous friend who used my money to "help" me. He was trying to make me feel small and indebted to him.

I looked at his hand on my shoulder, then into his manipulative eyes.

I shrugged his hand off.

"I don't need you to cover me, Mike," I said, letting a small, cold smile touch my lips. "And we're not friends."

I turned and walked away, leaving them standing there in stunned silence, the loud party music suddenly feeling very far away. The first crack in their perfect world had appeared, and I had been the one to make it.