The answer is nobody.

Nobody.

Nobody.

So for a while, I just sit on the edge of the roof and think. I think about the life I'll be missing out on if I go through with this. I think about the children I'll never have, the friends I'll never meet, the husband I'll never get to know. I think about whether I'll ever even have children if I stay alive past tonight, if I'll ever make friends, if I'll ever have a man in my life, and then I tell myself that of course I won't. Good things don't happen to me; good things never happen to me. If I decide to live, I'll spend my life alone, working a dead-end job just to pay the bills, hating myself the whole way through. I'll live my life just to get through the next day, with nothing to looking forward to in between, and that's no way to live at all, right? Next I think about dance, the way it frees me. I think about the tons of performances I've been to, the awards I've received, the applause I've earned. I think about that moment when I'm on stage, when the music plays beside me and everything fades away, because my sense come to life. I think about how my body hums with energy before every performance, and then I think about myself closing my eyes and dancing, getting lost in the movements. I miss getting lost. I miss it a lot. I miss that moment when I'm moving across stage, feeling nothing but the gentle pounding in my temples and the beautiful, magical, exhilarating feeling that all of my different dance moves give me.

Finally, I think about my parents. I think about how they never deserved to die, like I don't. I think about what it must have been like--to die like that. To one moment be sitting in the living room, drinking wine and listening to music, and the next, to just not exist anymore. I think about how they went down with such a fight--they always go down with fights, that's just who they are--and how Dad and Mom attacked the robber when he stole her prized jewelry, and then I think about him holding the gun on them, taking a breath, and firing. And before everything else, I think about how my parents' hands locked as they fell backwards, think about how, even in death, they were together forever.

And then, before I fall and break my leg and end my dance career forever, I think about nothing at all.

I drift back into consciousness after some time, feeling my head and heart pounding. My ears are still ringing, not even slowing their incessant sound for a second. I try to look around, but my vision is blurry. I'm moving, though, and something hard is beneath me, like someone is carrying me away in their arms. Which makes no sense. But I definitely feel myself progressing forward, feel the nausea rise up, and the next thing I know, something warm and soft is beneath me. And then, when I try to open my eyes, there is blackness. Another memory.

It's been over a year and a half since the night I almost died, and I still haven't moved on. I moved away, if that counts, to this dead-end town. I got a job, a tiny apartment, and I guess my prediction about living only to get through the next day came true after all. I'm not happy, not really. I have no love, no passion left in me. I'm living just to survive, doing nothing more, nothing less. This Starbucks job has gotten me less than nowhere, and so when my new friend Ash convinced me to try just one night out at a club, I said yes. "It's not like you have anything else to do," she'd said, which was all too true. I didn't have any hobbies. I didn't have any interests. Hell, I'd probably have just spent my night watching TV if it weren't for.

But instead, that night, I met Sebastian.

And then everything changed.

Anyway, Ash brought me to a club as soon as I agreed to go out with her. I dressed up in a purple dress, put on eyeliner and mascara and some makeup and lipstick, and then I let her drive me to wherever she had in mind.

So here I am, standing here, so, so out of place. The club is as cliché as ever. It's a giant room made up of multiple floors connected by a white, winding staircase. The whole place is dark, flooded with people drinking and swaying to the music, laughing and talking as the colored flashing lights illuminates the area between beats. Retro music pulses throughout the building, and everything is so loud and full and surreal that I feel like I'm in a dream.

"C'mon," Ash says, taking my arm and pulling me to the bar, where several desperate, well-dressed men sip drinks and flirt with any passing women.

Ash sits me down on the stool, then orders us both a drink. It's pathetic, really. That I'm here. That going to random clubs at midnight on a Thursday night is what my life has come to. But it has, and at least the club provides a distraction from everything else. At least, for a few hours, I can pretend to be normal.

"So how are you liking it so far?" Ash shouts to me over the music, taking her drink in her hand and smiling like she always does: like nothing in the world but this moment matters. I've always admired that about her, how she lives 100% in the present, how she never lets anything but what's happening right here, right now bother her. It's a nice way to live, and sometimes I wish I could ever be like that.

"It's fine," I manage to say, but as I look around the packed club, I couldn't feel more out of place.

"Don’t worry." Ash leans into me. "We'll find you a hot date."

I nod, not really believing it, when a man comes up to Ash. "Fancy a drink?" he says, smiling at her. He is handsome and blonde, and Ash and I can both see it.

"Totally." He sits down beside her, and Ash beams at me, totally forgetting her mission to find me a date, and then goes to talk to this fancy stranger.

I sigh to myself. Five minutes in, and I'm already getting abandoned. Great. It's like this club is a metaphor for my life. I take a sip of wine, closing my eyes and waiting for all of this to go away.

"The wine is good for making you forget," a man's voice says behind me.

I don’t look at him. I don't have the energy. After all, he's probably just a random creeper I have no interest in. "Yeah," I mutter. "It sure is."

There's a pause. "First time here too?"

"Fortunately," I manage to say, taking another sip.

He laughs then. That stops me dead. He has a nice laugh. A really nice laugh. It's thick and masculine, warm and inviting all at once. His voice is kind of nice, too, now that I think about it. It's almost sing-song, in a sexual, growling kind of way.

So I turn around to face him.

And goddammit, was I wrong about calling him a creeper.

He is--let's face it--smoking hot. He wears a newly-tailored suit that runs the length of his body. His dark hair is wavy and slicked back, and his skin is that perfectly sun-kissed kind of tan. His jaw is thick, and his eyes are a deep blue, smoky and icy all at once, like a fire on a frozen lake. He smiles at me when I look at him, broad and toothy, revealing a pair of killer dimples on either side of his mouth.

"May I?" he asks, reaching for my hand.

I hesitate, then nod.

It takes him less than a second to take my hand into his, lean in, and kiss it. Slow. Affectionate. His lips lingering on my skin just a little too long. He lifts his head up slowly, locking eyes with me, and I feel my skin crawl, because his lips feel so good against me.

"What's your name?" he asks after a minute.

I'm so busy thinking about his lips that the question catches me off guard. I look up, startled. "What?"