Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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've concluded two things in the span of two days.

Number one. Trent Reynolds - my former best friend - hates me. Number two. Sara Lemming - my current roommate slash potential new best friend– does not know the meaning of shutting up.

My first impression of her was quite simple. She seemed like a timid little creature, shooting me shy glances and smiles. She barely spoke three words on the first night. She offered me some sort of Caribbean meal, and, after I'd declined politely, closed the lights and went to bed.

Fast forward twenty-four hours and she's a whole new person.

Upon walking through the door, she proceeds to tell me about her crappy business class. I didn't even ask. I'm laying down on top of my bed with my readings, trying not to be surprised that she's suddenly so open and content about seeing me and sharing her day with me.

Whatever it is, I'm totally digging it. I already feel more comfortable around her, and I'm sure that's exactly what I'll be needing for the remainder of my stay here.

Sara and I talk about everything under the sun, from college majors, to living abroad, and to infamous sex positions as we dine on ramen noodles.

I am not even sure how we got to the last one. I think I told her that I have a boyfriend - fiancé - and she began asking me a bunch of questions. Surprising enough, I don't mind her talking. I've always been a quiet person and silence isn't exactly my favourite thing. It's nice that she fills the air between us with her musings. Not that there was much silence now that Ainsley's mouth was permanently open.

She is so much like Tara. My lips twitch in amusement when she cracks another sexual innuendo.

I drift off at some point. Sara shoots me an impatient look when I glance back at her. She looks like she's waiting for a response from her perched position on the bed, legs bent at the knees with her back against the wall.

"Sorry, girl. I lost track of what you were saying. Repeat that thought, please." I ask with a sheepish smile.

Sara (who's real name is Sara Ainsley Aiko Lemming, as I just discovered) cocks an eyebrow, and the cute little piercing gleams as it catches the dim lighting of our room. "You going tonight?"

Her background is a mixture of English, Jamaican and Japanese. Her mom is of Jamaican origin while her father is part English and part Japanese. She says she doesn't necessarily like the name Ainsley. I can either call her Sara or Aiko. But since everyone calls her Sara (and that's what she prefers), I stick with that one.

Despite her many names, Sara Ainsley Aiko Lemming is a beautiful girl with black corkscrew curls, light mocha skin and a charmingly cute personality to match her petite statuesque height.

"Where?"

"The Night Owl."

The name sounds vaguely familiar. I wonder if Tara said something about it over lunch today.

"What is that?" I can't recall for the life of me. I'm too distracted by the black velvet box I now keep under my duvet. The one Pierre gave me. The one that was home to my tiny and beautiful ring.

Sara gasps like I committed blasphemy and her hands fly to her chest. "Only the hottest bar on campus."

Now I'm sure it's the only bar on campus. But what do I know, right? This is only my third night back.

I try wracking my brain for the last time I went to a bar and come up short. Pierre is more of a let's-stay-in-and-cuddle-with-french-wine-and-cuisine type of guy. Bars are not up his alley. Even though it was the first place where he and I met. Ironically.

"I don't think I'm going," I tell her. Again, my pointer finger aimlessly traces the soft texture of the box.

"Cher, you have to come. It's the hot spot – the place to be on a Friday night. Everyone will be there. You might even meet old friends that you recognize."

Old friends? Besides my tight-knit group of high school friends, no one knows why I left so abruptly after graduation. I intend to keep it that way.

To the outside world, I'm just your average girl who flew to Europe looking to experience a life full of adventure. On the inside, I'm a crippled girl who's taken one too many hits because she was too scared to speak out and face her fears.

I regret telling Sara that I haven't reconnected with any old friends since I landed home. That was the first time tonight that she regarded me like I'd committed blasphemy.

And she's still giving me that look when I voice out my thoughts about bars and clubs.

"No," I shake my head more firmly this time. "I really just think I'm just going to take it easy before the start of classes next week."

Plus...who knows who I'm bound to run into if I go...

"But there's only three days left," Sara pouts. "Don't you want to have some kind of fun?"

I will have fun. Eventually. My fiancé says he's going to come down and visit me in a month. We can have sex then. Real good sex. That's fun. "I need to unpack."

"Liar. I saw you unpack the last of your things three hours ago."

Well, fudge. I sit up in my bed and raise my hands in a surrendering fashion. "Okay – you got me. My best friend Tara is swinging by to come pick me up. We're going out for Froyo and maybe a movie."

"She can come, too," Sara quips, damn well determined to get me to go with her.

She gets up from her bed and walks to her closet, where she rummages through a disarray of clothing. She picks up a tight leather skirt. "This will look amazing on my ass. What do you think?"

"Yes, it will." I need to work fast. Lord knows if she finds something to wear, I am screwed. "I'll ask my friend, but I'm sure she won't want –"

We are interrupted by three knocks. Throwing my sheets aside, I all but dart to the door, peering in the peephole for a brief second to confirm my suspicions. I flip open the locks.

"Is that her–" Sara isn't even done speaking when Tara barges in like the true diva she is.

Tara pushes open my door and saunters inside like she owns the place, a defiant twinkle in her eyes.

"That's her," I mumble.

Tara scrutinizes my small door room quickly. A frown slips onto her face and she scrunches her nose in disdain at the mess Sara and I have probably made.

"That's what?" Tara pivots and perches her hands on her hips. She's donning a flowy white camisole and jeans that looked like they were painted on her toned legs. She snaps her fingers at me. "Why aren't you dressed yet?"

Glancing down at my cut-off sweats and toothpaste stained jersey, I look like a hobo next to her. "Give me a sec," I say, starting towards my own closet. "I'm just going to change and we can head out."

Tara flops down on my bed with red heels and a gorgeous designer ensemble. "Hurry. My belly rumbles and it wants frozen yogurt. Nothing is going to stop me from getting my hands on it."

"How do free buttery nipple shots and Shirley temples sound like?"

Sara's timid voice – so unlike her – has me shooting a questioning glance in her direction. Well, damn. I'm in so much of a hurry that I forget to introduce them.

Tara only now notices my roommate's presence. Brushing her blond hair back, Tara sits up in my bed and stares at Sara. I can see my new roommate is also assessing my best friend.

"And where might I get those?" At the sound of free alcohol, Tara quirks a brow skeptically and forces a smile on her face.

Sara jut her chin out and shrugs casually. There's something devious about the sly look she casts me. "The Night Owl."

Tara's face morphs and something like amusement bleeds into her eyes. Sara sends me another smug sidelong glance. Shit.

"And since it's a ladies-get-free-drinks-after-midnight night, I've heard rumours that all the cute campus hotties will be there," Sara continues to supply helpfully as she clutches a black sequined top in her hands.

Tara rolls her lips inside her mouth like she's actually contemplating Sara's idea. Double shxt.

I bite my lip and say, "Doesn't frozen yogurt sound way –"

"We're going." My best friend's tone leaves no room for arguing. She swings her legs over the bed and points a finger at a squealing Sara. "You – I like you."

They met each other halfway, standing in the middle of my cramped dorm room. Tara extends a hand. "Your name?"

My roommate laughs and shakes her hand. "I'm Sara."

Tara grins like Sara just made a deal with the devil. "I'm Tara. Something tells me we're going to get along just fine."

* * *

The Night Owl rumbles with energy when we get there half an hour later. Boisterous laughter and conversations carry out, but they're nearly drowned out by the loud thumping of the bass. Music resonates loudly through the place.

"Here," Tara says loudly as she turns around, and hands me a glass of a suspicious looking concoction. "I think you'll like this."

The bartender gives Tara a flirtatious wink before he leaves to work on the east wing of the bar.

"I really don't drink," I tell her, but take it from her hands anyway.

My best friend looks at me like I've commit blasphemy, too. Wonderful, that's two people in one night.

"Damn. You've really changed after you went to study abroad."

I merely shrug. There's a judging look in her eyes – one that is accompanied with disappointment – as she takes a sip of her own drink. I don't want to be a disappointment now that I'm back. I simply want to blend in with everyone, be like everyone else.

I take a small tip of my own drink. It's sweet and fizzy, and it has a hint of a tropical taste to it. Almost like coconuts. The slight bitter burn of alcohol follows the sweetness.

"You used to drink with us all the time," Tara remarks. She props her elbow against the edge of the bar top as she looks me over. "What changed?"

A lot, I think. I'm nineteen and engaged to my boyfriend. It's been a month and I haven't told anyone yet. My abusive ex-stepfather wants another chance with my mother and my old childhood best friend? Yeah, he hates me. But that's all details. Semantics.

"Paris changed me." I smile around the rim of my glass before taking another sip. The taste is growing on me.

"Paris," Tara echoes and releases a disbelieving sound with a jerk of her head. "Don't be going all Parisian on me now. You're back in your country. Don't forget your roots, Canadian girl."

"Please," I say, laughing a little. "We all know you're jealous. After all, you were the one who wanted to visit the City of Love."

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes. "At least tell me you fucked some hot French boys over there. Make me proud, girl."

I nod solemnly, playing along. "Yeah, of course. I went out every weekend, got piss-drunk and sixty-nined it with some stranger. Best time of my life. What about you?"

Tara's light eyes dance with mischievousness. "Totally. Our city wasn't as crazy as Paris, but I did have a couple of hot threesomes here and there. One sucked my tits while the other ate out my pussy like there was no tomorrow."

I spit my mouthful of drink out and a couple of people around us give us disgusted looks. Jesus, this girl has no filter. "S-Seriously?"

"No. He fucked my ass while the other fucked my pussy.

I'm dying now. Holy. Shit. "Tara!"

She rolls her eyes again in a duh kind of motion. "Of course, I'm kidding. They offered to fuck my ass and pussy. I said no like a good girl."

I run my hand over my flustered face, laughing shakily. "You scared me there for a second. I wouldn't put it past you. And FYI, I was kidding. I never went out and got drunk or fucked strangers."

"I know," Tara agrees ruefully. "You're too much of a plain Jane for that exhilarating stuff."

Pierre doesn't think I'm a plain Jane. I flip her the bird and we fall back into our familiar banter.

* * *

Tara is scanning the crowd of hot boys when she concludes that no one is up to her standards. "Come on. I texted some of my sorority sisters and they're here. Let's grab a booth with them."

It's dark but still more quiet by the booth. Tara's friends and I can carry out small talk but the music is still loud enough to drown our voices. Most of the are sweet while the rest are downright catty. I am surprised that Tara hangs out with them.

I'm talking to Stephania Ivanov, a junior sister at Tara's sorority, when my eyes catch Sara. She split and went ahead with her friends when we reached The Night Owl. Now she was on the dance floor grinding the night away.

There's a certain desperation in the way she sways, like she's hopelessly trying to fit in. Blend in. I feel her. All I yearn to do now that I'm back is to fit in with every one. My roomie and I may be more alike that I think.

However, when I see the recipient on the other end of her gyrating booty moves, I choke on my drink.

"Oh, God." I quickly hit Tara's shoulder to gain her attention.

Pausing her conversation with another one of her sorority sisters, she turns towards me, teeth nibbling on the straw of her Shirley Temple. "What?" Until she follows my line of vision. She, too, chokes on her drink.

"Is that Jared?" she splutters.

The last thing I expect to see is my roommate's body plastered to the guy who I've considered like a brother to me my whole life. It's weird and uncomfortable to watch.

"Well damn." Tara gives a signature chuckle-snort combo.

I watch Jared and Sara grind for a moment longer. He has his hands on her hips, but he occasionally moves them up and down her body. He's going to get slapped by me later tonight. He's at least an entire foot taller than her. I wince. This is the equivalent of watching Oliver get intimate with someone.

Now that Jared and my best friend Natalie broke up; it was odd seeing them with other people. But I guess it's to be expected. Life happens and we move on.

Eventually I finish my drink and its quarter past midnight. Free drinks for ladies that means. Excusing myself from the booth, I meander towards the jam-packed bar, filled with tons of college girls.

Over there I spot Trenton and freeze.

He's talking to a cute brunette and her group of friends, distributing them drinks with a smile on his face. My plan to initially ignore him doesn't work as I keep staring at him. Seeing him interact with other girls and laughing handsomely ticks me off. Especially since he's so hostile towards me now.

I push my way through the throng of bodies to get closer to the bar. Unfortunately, Trent moves closer to me without knowing it. He still hasn't seen me. I want to keep it that way.

Our elbows touch and I jerk back. Trent is in the midst of saying something to one of the girls when he casually peers over his shoulder. And seers me.

His blue eyes widen a fraction before they narrow to slits. Without a word, he moves far away from me as if my touch scalds him. The look of disgust isn't well masked on his face.

A sense of nostalgia and sadness claws at my chest, namely my heart. To think that once we were inseparable, joined at the hip.

He continues to flirt with the stupid brunette and anger drains away whatever sentiments I'm feelings for Trent.

If he wants to continue being an angry asshole, then fine by me. Contrary to what Sara thinks, I don't have to rehash all friendships with my old friends – including old best friends.

Somethings are better left the way they are: broken. Not everything can be fixed with words and actions. Some wounds simply take time to heal.

Trent needs time to heal. The scars I caused do at least. But I'm not sure if I'm ready to give him time. I've lived in the past way too long and now I'm ready to continue moving on. Regardless of what he thinks about me.

I made a mistake by not talking to him and pushing him away. I've done what I deemed necessary to protect my fragile heart. I would never take that back. It's what made me stronger in the first place.

At the bar, there's a guy who eyes me. His desire hangs open blatantly in his eyes. He takes my polite smile as a suggestive invitation to rake his gaze over the length of my body. It makes my skin crawl.

Suddenly, I regret leaving Pierre's engagement ring back at my dorm. I feel naked and vulnerable. But I want to blend in and act like a normal nineteen-year-old.

Do normal nineteen-year-olds wear diamond engagement rings on their finger?

I tug at the hemline of my short knit dress self consciously and shift from one foot to the other. I'm roughly pushed to the side, before a husky voice speaks harshly at my ear.

"What do you want?"

I flinch at our proximity. When has Trent gotten so close to me – did he not just leave? "I beg your pardon?"

Trent's blue eyes glimmer in the dark. "Pardon? Wow. I said, what do you want to drink?"

His tone's still hard but I hear the underlying sarcastic amusement. "Um." What is it that Tara ordered for me? "M-Malibu and sprite."

Trent cocks an eyebrow and sticks his fingers through his brown hair. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Just one," I admit.

He looks like he doesn't believe me. Trent leans down and whispers his words against the shell of my ear. His breath warms my sweat-dampened neck. "Are you driving?"

I shake my head, wondering why he's being so nosey after making it clear two days ago that he wants nothing to do with me. "Tara's designated driver."

"I saw her drinking not too long ago."

"It's a virgin drink."

Trent finally looks convinced. With a curt nod, he shoulders his way past a couple of bodies. He's gotten taller, more mature as well. Even more hotter, dare I say. His brown hair is a little on the shaggier side and he keeps his strands squashed under a grey knit beanie. Does he still play football? His sinewy muscles flex and bulge under his straining white shirt. The only thing that hasn't changed are his eyes. His beautiful soft blue–

A drink is thrust into my hand before I can finish that thought.

"Here you go," Trent mutters before he starting to walk away.

I stop him with a hand on his strong, muscled forearm. He peers down at the touch like it's something so wrong and foreign.

This hurts me.

"Thank you," I rush out quickly and take a deliberate sip of my drink to show him that I will drink it. That I appreciate him buying it for me in the first place. "Why help me, though?"

His eyebrow arches again in that cynical manner I'm not accustomed to. "Because you looked like you needed it."

He says it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hasn't acted like a complete Netherlander with me two days ago. In a strange way, Trent seems to care.

My breath catches t in my throat before it releases in a shaky exhale. Maybe things can be fixed...I opt for a smile. "So...do you and Jared come here often?"

Pitiful, I know. I'm reduced to small talk now.

Trent isn't looking at me. His gaze fixes on something over my head.