If Relationship Don't Mend

"Don't be such a killjoy, Ezra," Isadora announced from the distance. She was with a black guy who, if my brain serves me right, was the same man Felise almost killed on her first shift.

"Everyone is having fun!" yells the man. "Just go with the flow." Easy being said than done.

The party was at the apex of its energy. The jubilant night sky was etched with the silhouettes of Razel’s rugby buddies. Laughter, shouts, and the splash of water echoed off the high, stone fences of someone's luxurious seaside villa.

A quick glance around revealed the typical party debris – abandoned red cups, teetering beer bottles, and the rustic scent of half-eaten pizza.

The centerpiece of the scene was the sapphire-blue pool where most of the gang congregated. Among them was my stepbrother.

On their rowdy urge to create some excitement, they had set their eyes on Felise and me. Felise was petite, ethereal-looking with her untamed curls that framed her doe-like face.

She always had a silent, co