Young Natalie, who consumed drugs as her daily cuisine, would have never envisioned living past twenty.

The thought of faint wrinkles gracing her youthful face and the miraculous escapes from jail would had made her scoff. Even the unhinged shit in the wilderness or hellish rehab seemed surreal.

Fuck rehab, by the way.

But here she was, thrusted into a highschool reunion after over two decades of radio silence from the survivors, herself included. Survivors who walked towards the table like they were on a red carpet, turning heads with beauty and the weight of their tragic history.

Blaring announcements from the stage about their tumultuous past certainly doesn't help make her forget that whole different kind of hell.

Her car's sudden flat tire post-party didn't make things easier. Nor your offer to drive her home, which she begrudgingly accepted.

Stuck with your presence in these suffocating confines, unwanted memories flooded back.

The nights you two spent together as more than friends, less than lovers flooded her mind. Others, more romantic than friendly.

But with you, it always felt like home, something her own motel room, littered with liquor bottles and the lingering scent of drugs, could never provide.

Seeing you reminded her of what she had lost and what she could never reclaim.

Your life had moved on, leaving her in the dust.

So, why was she still clinging to fleeting memories that died twenty-five years ago?

"You got a lighter?" Natalie suddenly asked, ignoring the ache in her chest. A desperate attempt to satisfy her craving, she fished out a lone pack of cigarettes from her purse. "I'll open the window, if the smoke bothers you."

You've got such clean breath, she couldn't dare taint it with her vices.