CHAPTER 4 || ONE

Krystal wasn’t sure if it was the lights or her dress or if it was the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded arena that elicited feelings of crippling nervousness.  Nevertheless, she needs to center her cool as she was minutes from walking on the stage.

“Miss Krystal Jung, you’re on in two.”

“Thanks.”

Rehearsing through the script cards as she takes a step closer to the stage, a familiar voice in the back thwarted the effort of that cool she was able to zone in so far.  That voice sent chills up and down her spine.  For a moment it paralyzed her thoughts and debilitated her legs and she knew exactly:  it was no longer the lights, no longer the dress, and no longer the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded arena.  It was the sound of the voice that once made her smile for inexplicable reasons.  And just by hearing that simple hi from behind her, though directed for someone else, it manages to dismantle her strategically armed defenses.

As painful as the memories were, the sweet sound of that husky voice can trigger a million kinds of reason to smile, a million kinds of reasons to cry, and a million kinds of ways to send her to a million trails of high.  And in those trails, a stream of memories came rushing in…

Hi.

Hi Krystal.

I’m so in love with you, it’s not even funny.

When you smile at me like that, I don’t know what to do with myself.

You’re it…Krystal, I think you’re it for me.

“Krystal, standby in twenty seconds.”

Krystal, I’m not afraid to hurt you.

Krys…I’m sorry.  I didn’t intend for this to happen.

Please, Krystal.  I need you back in my life.

“Ten,” The floor manager flashes his full fingers to signal ten seconds.

Fine…If I leave here…I’m leaving for good.

Just tell me once—this was real for you too.

I’m sorry.  I really am.  But Krys…it hurts so ing bad because I still love you.

The floor manager signals for her to go and just like the professional she was, she gathers herself, gathers the memories, them of their vitality to focus its strength in her stride.  Walls are back up, guards are revitalized and shields are back in its place.  Her defenses are in full gear and unscathed as she places one foot in front of the other.  She grazes the stage with poise and concentration.  And with her groomed smile and steady charisma, she delivers, flawless and impeccable.

And she did it all mercilessly…without even the thought of looking back.

Tonight, there are a couple of things Amber is sure of:  her suit is too tight and Krystal is just too much for her own good.  As great as she was in her ability to keep her eyes from falling in her direction so far, it only takes one look, one second, one girl to make everything else invisible and irrelevant in the arena, in fact, the entire state of California, if not, the whole country of United States of America, actually, in this thing called life on planet earth.

She took one glance backstage and she was more than hooked—she was utterly disassembled.  All it took was seeing one smile to render her completely hopeless and hopeful at the same time.  She more than missed her and the longer she lingered in her atmosphere the more desperation became a tangible reality.  And at this rate, three hours into this award show, she’s in what can only be described as an emotional state of limbo.  She wants to stay but needs to get herself to leave.  She wants to leave but can only get herself to stay.  Amber hates it.  She hates it because it takes one moment, one second, one glance and all efforts of progress is shot into oblivion.

Cara sniffed it out in no time.  She could sense her friend’s disposition and it’s not that she enjoys it and takes pleasure in her pain, it’s just that in Cara’s jaded world, the real Amber brought too much dynamic, too much color.  Ergo, she’ll daringly push that button not just to get a reaction but to see this whole story play out through to the end.

At the conclusion of the award show, the after-party talks are now in question.  Amber thinks—she’s using her head for once—it’s best to just avoid this whole thing entirely.

Amber reaches for her phone to text Jackson of her wise decision.  Cara notices her friend’s surprising composure and capitalizes on the moment.

“Oh come on.  You’re seriously ditching out right after this?” Cara begins pushing.

Amber’s fingers and eyes still focused on the screen, she answers, “You know I can’t stay in L.A.”

“After all these months and you still have zero confidence in yourself?”

“Yep.  Zero.”

“What’s the worse that could happen?”

Amber scoffs because if anyone knew how bad it could get, Cara did.  She looks up from the phone and sends her a telling glare, “I think you know the answer to that question.”

For a moment, Cara was shaken.  Amber’s gaze is no joke this time.  But that effect was but a fleeting moment and unlike Amber, Cara was confident.  She continues to press, “We’re in L.A.  All of our friends—your friends—have been hoping to see you and spend some time with you tonight.  Just because Kryst—”

“Cara…” Amber shakes her head at Cara in dissatisfaction for, number one, bringing her up once again was unnecessary, and for, number two, making it more difficult for her to do the right thing, which is also unnecessary.  “You know better than anyone…I can’t stay.  I shouldn’t.  So can you please—”

Right in that instant, as Amber was about to make clear the line she was drawing, in the corner of her peripheral, she sees something she wishes she never had because now her urgency to stay is strengthening its case against her conviction to leave.  And in this moment, she too, can’t even revert her eyes from what she’s seeing.

Cara turns around to follow the direction of Amber’s gaze.  It’s like the gods were on her side because what they’re both witnessing hit the nail on the head without her even further trying.  Amber’s staying.  It’s now inevitable.

In timely truth and in convenient taunt, Cara scoffs, “I think the worse just happened.”

As cliché as it sounds, there’s nothing worse than seeing the person who used to have their world enamored by yours be enamored by someone else.  That is one image, one potential reality Amber is incapable of accepting.

So she stayed.  She went to the after-party knowing fully well that Krystal will be in that same space, in shorter distance, and a drink away from her grasp.  And she didn’t take a second to waste.  As soon as they arrived at the club, she takes one shot for the pain, another one for her sorrow.

Even Cara can’t stop the bolting train wreck waiting to happen.  Not like she would anyways.  She knew that she had one role in Amber’s life tonight and it’s to pick up the broken parts and pieces in the aftermath.  Jackson too, as eloquent as he was in convincing Amber that, “You’re reading way too much into what you saw…Let’s just go to the airport right now and let’s think this through, Amber…You’re two months into this thing, it would be a tragedy to regress now…” he couldn’t stop her.  They couldn’t even if they tried.

To Amber, she thinks, this is exactly what Krystal wants anyways—to see me react, to see me in pain, to see me regret my mistakes in unfathomable ways I have gravely deserved.  So she boxes herself into that mold and readies to throw herself in full participation of the part.

Cara, on the other hand, holds off on the drinks and surveys the whole situation as unpreventable.  Amber’s going to go off, she’s sure of it.  And as much as she has pushed Amber’s button in the last few hours, she’s reluctant to see how this one will actually play out.

Cara grips Amber’s wrist as she was about to take another shot.  “Slow down a little bit.  We’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

Without breaking her stare across the room, Amber ignores Cara completely and gulps down her fourth shot of tequila.  Amber catches a cocktail waitress and signals for more as she has now found herself back in that sick cycle of thoughts.  This is so cliché, so predictable, so…ing pop culture.  But if this is the reaction they all want, I’m ready to give it to them.

Perhaps Krystal was playing her.  She’d rather believe that over the alternative--the chance that Krystal has perhaps found someone else new in her life.  She’d rather get played than get punished.  It’s funny, isn’t it?  That any person in their right mind would think that played and punished fall synonymously in the same category?  But in Amber’s convoluted and twisted logic; the two are opposite sides of the spectrum and has two different missions with two different meanings.

Played meant a glimmering chance of hope to possibly win her back.

Punished meant the irreversible penalty of having lost her completely.

For a moment she thinks promisingly—I should have steered cleared from the beginning.  But that was only an indicator that she probably just needed another drink.  And so she does, without her ever leaving her out of her sight.  And now with the music bouncing off the walls, the lights electrifying the whole scene, her blood drowning in alcohol, she couldn’t endure it any longer.

She takes a couple more drags and massages her temple.  Her friends are at a loss themselves with Cara the only one mildly coherent and sober.

But Amber has reached her limit.  She can no longer stand that guy’s arm draped around her shoulder.  She can no longer stand her laughing and smiling at his jokes.  She can no longer bear the thought of the chance or the possibility that she has been forgotten—forgotten especially by her.

Amber stands up, only to be tugged down by Cara, “Where are you going?”

In almost like a loud roar, perhaps due to the blaring music playing or perhaps due to spite and anger, she shouts, “Where the hell do you think?!”  Amber yanks her arm off from Cara but Cara stands up to follow and makes another attempt to get through to her.

Cara steps in front of Amber and pushes her back holding her shoulders.  “Don’t turn this into a Hollywood Gossip extravaganza.”

Amber carefully removes Cara’s hands from her.  “You wanted to see this, right?  So get out of my way.”

Cara did, it’s true.  But…Cara was way more illustrious and brilliant than trite and cliché.  Her pushing Amber’s buttons weren’t just to watch her drag out her pain just because.  It was to watch her drag it to its end.  It has always been for Amber’s sake—to push her to finally war and triumph over her demons than to sulk and entertain its depravity.

So Cara seizes this moment, “, Amber. You’re right.  I wanted to see this.  I wanted to see you feel again.  But what are you gonna do?  You’re gonna march right there and then what?  Fight him?  Pull her?  Fight her?  Don’t be so predictable.  Don’t give them the luxury to predict you.  So tell me.  What are you gonna do?”

It was hard to read what Amber was now thinking, if she even was thinking at all. She stared blankly and ghostly with only her shoulder and her chest rising and falling as sign that she was still somewhat in touch with reality.  Instead, she diverts her attention from Cara to Krystal.  She moves past Cara towards the other side of the room, aiming her steps at one person and one person only.

Through the deafening music, she can hear Cara’s voice inside her head loud and clear.  Don’t be so predictable.  Don’t give them the luxury to predict you.

And suddenly something clicked.

She stood five feet from Krystal and she was now at a deadlock with her.  Krystal has finally acknowledged her existence and was now intently staring at her next move.  Amber was enraged, impassioned, impulsive yet so totally in love.  Krystal, indeed, felt those emotions in Amber’s gaze with every second she stared back at them.

Amber would have fought, Amber would have pulled, and Amber would have showcased the same she has pulled in the past when it came to Krystal.  And to compliment the episode were the typical articles, pictures, and gossips that would break out the following day and it would all have been what was expected, what was predicted, and what was almost hoped.

But something clicked earlier and it couldn’t have come at a more impeccable timing.

Amber scoffs and instead of moving forward (her propensity in these kinds of Krystal-situations), she steps backwards.  Instead of going heart first, she heads the other direction, knowing that she’ll follow her with her eyes.  Amber marks Cara where she left her and plows through the crowded dance floor.  Cara, taken aback with her friend’s sudden comeback and single-minded fury, stands perplexed by the sight in front of her.  Giving her no time to think, Amber pulls Cara by the waist and gently, yet firmly, pulls her by the neck, landing a convincing unpredictable and unprecedented kiss on her lips.

Amber drunk.  Cara sober.

Amber wanted to make a statement. Cara didn’t mind and didn’t dare to slow down one bit either.  And it is as all have probably imagined--all were left in shock and all were quick to document and put this moment on social media blast.

Amber thinks, I bet they couldn’t have predicted this.

And she knows…Krystal didn’t like this either.

“Wake up.  Amber wake up.”  Jackson’s voice accompanied with his nudges brought her back to reality and she’s unsure whether she’s been sleeping for three days or three hours.

“Wake up.  Freshen up and get dressed properly.”

Although her memory has yet to give her a proper awareness of where she was, how she got into that horrendous state of extreme hangover, and what time and day it was exactly, she blinks her eyes to show him at least a response.  She was dead tired, dead drunk, and brain dead.  It’s taking the life of her to move even her eyes and that’s not a failed exaggeration.

“Get up, Am.  I’m serious.”

Why he’s telling her to get up now, given the obvious circumstance that she just physically and mentally can’t, astounds her.  Why he’s saying he’s serious, without any explanation or basis for his claimed seriousness, beats her.

So Amber remains solid as a rock.  Eyes closed.  Body and mind unwilling to respond.

Jackson let out a heavy sigh.   Before he twists the handle of the door and before he steps out the room he says, “You’re going to get up in five minutes for one good reason.  And that reason—it starts with a K.”

Amber’s eyes shot open.  And it took her five minutes indeed.

She freshens up and heads out for the living room.  She’s trying to recall memories of last night, rather, three hours ago.  The last thing she vaguely remembers was kissing Cara.  .  I kissed Cara.

As she was walking down the hallway towards the living room, the hangover was almost jolted out of her system as thoughts of last night, Cara, and Krystal now dominated.  And Krystal.  .  Wait.  She’s here.

And sure enough, when she reached her living room, the open glass window that led to her Malibu beachfront porch overlooking the California beach and Pacific Ocean, she could swear she must be dreaming.  In fact, she rubs her eyes just to make sure she wasn’t.

The glass slide door was partially open and out on the porch she sees her, leaned over the wooden railing, hair effortlessly riding the swift breeze, the sun seemingly shining its rays on its favorite and most precious object of obesesion.  But this…this was not making sense to her.  Krystal was here—as in here, at her house, standing on her porch.  But why is she here?  What happened last night?  What did I do to make her come here?

Jackson comes out from the kitchen and approaches the love-sick and love-struck best friend of his with a glass of hangover cure concoction.  Jackson hands her the glass and the two just stood there while they just watched and observed the beautiful and rare-to-come-by creature on Amber’s beachside porch.

Jackson takes a sip of his coffee and pats Amber on the shoulder.  Amber finally asks, “Did you let her in?”

Jackson scoffs as he takes another sip, taking his time to answer her question.  “She let herself in…Drink up.”  Jackson pushes the glass closer towards .  She couldn’t keep from shuddering and pursing as she gulps the glass down in one shot.  She needed to sober up and sober up quickly.

“Good girl,” Jackson takes the glass and pats her on the back before walking back to the kitchen.

“Jackson,” she found the need to ask, “Cara?  Where’s Cara?”

Jackson doesn’t bother to turn around; instead, he shakes his head and informs her unabashedly, “She’s probably halfway to London by now.”

A deluge of a million thoughts, a million feelings, a million apologies came pouring in but she’s got to get it together quick.  She’s waiting and her atmosphere is pulling her in and this time, she has nowhere else and no one else to run to.

She approaches the slide door and she fixes herself.  Surprisingly, her heart rate was beating normal.  Even as she took a step closer and closer, there seemed to be a sentiment, perhaps a familiarity that enveloped this setting.  She was theoretically nervous, knowing that things are very bleak and uncertain at the moment.  But she felt, within this context and this situation, somewhat at peace.  Maybe it was a part of her that still felt as though this was a dream.  Maybe she felt comfortable and relaxed upon the familiar sight because this Malibu property…well…was, after all, purchased because of her.  This was a place they shared for a long time.  It was their getaway escape, their runaway respite from all the flashing lights and curious eyes.

However, seeing her, also appearing to be relaxed and at eased, generously breathing the light air, comfortably stationed against the railing while sipping a cup of coffee from the familiar mug that only she uses, made Amber, in some measure, quite content in the midst of the disconcertment.  She approaches Krystal, walks slowly towards her and she was certain that she knew that they were now in each other’s inner atmosphere.  Amber cautiously leans against the same wooden railing, her head and eyes completely focused on the how stunning she looked and how breathless she has always made her feel.

Krystal kept gaze forward.  But unlike Amber—always unlike Amber—in her chic and relaxed façade, Krystal was bursting inside.  The memories that lived in this house are but vestiges of something that once resided in her heart.  And that...still drove Krystal mad.

As Krystal felt Amber’s presence drawing near, the more it seemed to sear the open wound that Amber hasn't given her the courtesy to close.  So with an aching yet quiet, masked yet striking whisper, Krystal says, “I almost forgot how remarkable the view was from here.”

A/N:  If you keep up with my other story (Pieces of You And I), you're probably aware that I just left for vacation a little over ten hours ago.  I'm visiting the Philippines (a.k.a the motherland) and will be in vacation for a month.  I meant to update with this chapter yesterday but it didn't really work out. However, thank you Jesus for Wi-Fi and Delta Skylounge because now I was able to update!  Like I told my other readers, I'll probably have some downtime so I will continue to write and hopefully continue to update.  It will come sporadically but it'll come...hopefully.  But anyways, back to Kryber...I must say...things are going to escalate pretty quickly... And I think it's time...time for a little heated Kryber confrontation.  XD <333 Z