This fucking day couldn't get any worse.

I'm in the home theatre of the estate, the only place that isn't infested with idiot drunk teens, but with the liqueur bottle in my hand, one can only realise that they are one of them.

The Baileys is alright; I found it resting on the bar cart near the door. I'm not much of a fan of cream liqueurs, but when you're cheated on by someone you presumed to love, your acquired taste becomes desirable. I can bear it, and the bottle's heavy, probably because it's been untouched:

Sorry to Shrau's parents.

Tonight reminds me of an Italian proverb Luena quoted to me once: 'He that deceives me once, it's his fault, but if twice, it's my fault." Luena enlightened me with this quote years before when I started reading Stephen King novels, but despite the modern take, it still holds the same meaning.

After tonight, if I choose to forgive her again and take her back, I'm a fucking fool.

My and Livia's relationship consisted of compromise after compromise, which was most often one-sided. Like a fool, I yielded to her whims and wants, proving to be a committed boy that cared for the girl he loved.

I've always believed that when you love someone, you fight for them, even when things get tough. But maybe that was my problem. I shouldn't have clung to someone who didn't deserve it.

If love is to comprise your morals and integrity ultimately, all in the name of not losing someone, then love can shove it. The universe can keep it away because I no longer care for its faux happiness.

The thing than irks me the most about this situation is that I'm not as mad at Livia as much as I am at myself. I loved her so much that I refused to see the type of person she was. If it's so easy for someone to cheat on you, the red flags were originally there, but I was too blind to see them.

Yet, no matter how much I continue drinking Bailey's and its low alcohol content, I still can remember our first date, our first kiss, the first time we slept together...it's like all my memories are rushing in at once, refusing to disappear.

Our first date and first kiss happened the same day:

It was the end of sophomore year, and she wanted to teach me how to surf or at least she thought she was teaching me to surf (I had already been surfing before, but I wasn't a pro). We went to Surfrider beach; her hair was shorter then, shoulder length. She was sporting her natural blonde curls that day in a full-wet suit. We watched the sunrise; I was so surprised by the five am wake-up call to head out to her, but she was excited, so I let it slide. We had our first kiss that morning in July at the pier nearby.

It sounds like a lovesick poem, a poem I want to burn.

For someone so sweet that cared about marine life and the ocean...my SoCal girl...like how did she change so fast?

There was a time she was genuine with me, told me her hopes and dreams, and what she loved and how she loved, talking to me about the problems at home, about her controlling Mom and neglectful Dad, about her eating disorder—oh, how she struggled.

I drove her to the rehabilitation center when I found out and was there when she left.

I could blame her parents, but it isn't an excuse; her upbringing isn't an excuse to hurt me.

I'm not perfect, but I was a good boyfriend. I was always there for her when she needed me. I listened. I didn't cheat, which is the fucking bare minimum. I didn't flirt with others, didn't even look at another person. Only her, I only saw her. I did my best to make her happy, but that wasn't enough.

Happiness wasn't enough. Love wasn't enough. I...wasn't enough.

I'm even questioning myself, trying to figure out what I did wrong. There must be a reason, right? A reason behind her hurting me. What did I do? What could I have done better?

But as I sit here drinking from a dark glass bottle, tasting how sweet, milky and incredibly warm Bailey's is (not in a good way), I don't see the wrong that could have resulted in this.

Honestly, my heart hurts, and I want to cry, but I can't force myself to.

People will say that it's manly to stuff your feelings in. That crying is a weakness and that wearing your heart on your sleeve is soft, but to love with one's whole heart and to be honest about one's feelings is as passionate and warm as they come. In this scenario, being a macho man isn't so bad.

What has being in love taught me? That heartache is the price to pay.

I know being macho will only get me so far, and no matter how much I wish I could step into that role... at this moment, my nature will not allow me. But love is off the table. And feelings can lock away until one day I want to uncover them again, but right now, tonight...I may never visit love island for a very long time.

The whiskey makes the temperature bearable, and I could get up and go to the kitchen for some ice, but I don't have the strength to move. I sigh again, wishing tonight could have gone differently.

I graduated, but I couldn't even enjoy it. Not only has this day ended on a sour note, but it also began on one.

My father and I argued earlier in the day, before the graduation ceremony, because he found out I hadn't applied to Cornell or any of the Ivy's he chose:

It's hot outside, the sun is shining, and I'm sweating my balls off in this long and heavy graduation gown. Is it made from wool?

"How could you do such a thing Damìan? I gave you the responsibility, and you didn't do your part. Your job was to apply to the schools I listed, and I would pay the tuition, that's all. ¿Pero qué has hecho? (but what did you do)?" Dad paces back and forth, "you only applied to NYU!" he says angrily.

We're in the parking lot of my school; it's empty except for the dozens of cars accompanying us: Or so I thought.

I hear a car beep, and following the direction of the sound, I notice a middle-aged woman giving us curious looks as she closes her trunk with a gift basket in her arm. She catches my gaze and quickly walks away.

"Dad, I made my decision, and I got in. NYU may not be an Ivy League school, but it's up there with them. Are you seriously upset over a technicality? I got in. You should be proud, not giving me a lecture before my graduation ceremony." I state, annoyed.

He shoots daggers at me; if he were a cartoon character, steam would jet out of his ears.

"You're a disappointment," he spits out, "I've done everything in my power to ensure you have a rewarding future...but...you pull this...."

Usually, I wouldn't feel anything from his reactions because I'm so used to them, but today, under the scorching sun, wearing my cap and gown, his words hurt: really hurt.

We may not have the greatest relationship, but I expected a civil exchange, at least today of all days, but in typical Leònidas fashion, he has to pick a fight.

"If anything, Dad...you're the disappointment," the words tumbled out my mouth before I could think. "I expected to have a good day today. No animosity, or passive-aggressive remarks, just—" I exhale, "you know what, Dad, don't come."

"Don't come where?"

"Inside. Stay out here and be the way you are. I don't need you there at the ceremony because mom is enough for me. You've clarified your feelings, so I'm making it easier for you."

I shake my head and turn to walk away, but he halts me.

"You'll never let it go, will you?" He questions.

I don't turn to him because I know what he means.

"No," I respond. "You didn't do right by mom, so no, I'll never let it go."

"If only you knew the whole story, maybe you wouldn't think that way. Maybe you'd stop rebelling. This is your future chacho (boy). When will you get that? I'm doing my best for you."

I close my eyes a moment and collect myself. Breathing out, I open my eyes and turn to him again, "If you think this is your best, I don't know what to tell you. You're the reason why we're here. And I'm not rebelling; I'm safeguarding my future because it's my life you're trying to control. I'm going to NYU, whether you like it or not. Sorry, I'm such a big disappointment to you, but that isn't anything new because I feel the same about you. So, let's call it even."

A solemn expression replaces his stern one, and he goes to reply, but I don't wait because I immediately turn away and head inside for the ceremony, leaving Dad behind to ponder.

And he didn't show up for the ceremony: hell, he left the state. He probably travelled to New York to work on the grand opening for the apartment hotel he's renovated alongside Luena's father.

I admit I knew not following his list wouldn't end well, but I didn't care. None of the Ivy's interested me; only NYU did. I did apply to others as a fail-safe (non-Ivy's), but I sensed my number one would accept me.

I didn't realise how much his words would affect me. Disappointment. Betrayal.

Once again, this fucking day couldn't get any worse.

Sipping the Bailey's, I can no longer stomach the warm taste anymore, so I cap the bottle, get up and place it back in the spot I took it from.

I need something stronger and preferably cold.

Opening the door, I'm surprised to find Luena standing there, leaning against the wall across the hall. She's sipping from a Cîroc bottle which is so unlike her. A single tear suddenly falls from her eye, and she wipes it away.

Finally aware of me, she seems surprised but gives me a tight-lipped smile. "Need something strong?" She questions, referring to the bottle in her hand.

I lean against the door frame, wondering what's wrong with her because I know she's deflecting. Yet, whatever it is, she'll tell me eventually, so I let it go for now.

"You read my mind."