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SOMETHING ABOUT LUCRECIA'S WARNING only made Rebeka want Pilar more. She was determined now to find out what made Pilar Correa de Santos so fucking important that everyone felt this need to protect her. Every time she was near her, Rebe felt this magnetic energy pulling her closer. Everything about Pilar was beautifully perfect. There was seemingly nothing messy or shallow about her, unlike everyone else at Las Encinas—at least in Rebeka's opinion.
As the night carried on, everyone got progressively more intoxicated, including Pilar and Rebe. They were dancing close to one another, their lips only centimeters apart. And it wasn't long before they were stumbling towards Rebeka's town car hand in hand with their coats strewn haphazardly on. The drunken pair hadn't even noticed that Rebe was wearing Pilar's jacket and vice versa.
"I had forgotten what it felt like," Pilar giggled, hiccuping halfway through her sentence. "What it felt like to be champagne drunk at a club."
Rebe laughed with her, too drunk to understand what she meant. The two clumsily slid into the backseat, and the driver revved the engine, leaving the club far behind.
As the neon lights grew more distant, there was a frenzy of tugging, gasping, and kissing in the backseat of Rebe's sleek, black town car. Pilar could feel the hot, sticky trail of lipgloss Rebe was leaving down her exposed neck, shoulders, and collar bones. Her skin burned under Rebe's soft, yet deliberate touch. The two melted into each other, too caught up in their own little world to realize that the car had pulled to a stop in Rebe's driveway. The chauffeur rapped two muffled taps with his gloved knuckles against the shiny partition, alerting the girls that they had arrived at their destination.
Reluctantly, the girls pulled away ever so slightly from each other. Their breaths mixed together as they each gasped for air. The girls' eyes fluttered open, acknowledging that they would have to move their party inside. Pilar's eyes grew wide, quickly recognizing the familiar surroundings. Immediately, she recoiled from Rebe, sinking into the leather backseat. The sight of her best friend's former house made her instantly sick to her stomach. Before she could even craft an excuse for her erratic behavior, the nauseous feeling suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks, and Pilar couldn't help but empty the contents of her barely full stomach onto the town car's floor and Rebe's patent leather boots.
There were several, prolonged moments of weighted silence. Pilar kept her head down and clamped her eyes shut, not wanting to face the beautiful girl beside her. Deciding it was best to simply cut her losses, she sputtered out an apology, hastily grabbed her purse, and sightlessly clawed at the car door, searching desperately for the handle. Within seconds of finding it, Pilar flung the backseat door open and bolted away from the car like a criminal fleeing a crime scene.
She didn't stop running until she was at least a kilometer away. Tears had welled in her eyes and soon began spilling out onto her flushed cheeks. As watery streaks of mascara began staining her face, Pilar ripped off her heels and threw them as far as she could. Placing her hands on her knees, she tried to catch her breath, but she just wanted to fuckingscream.
All she wanted to do was be perfect—the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect classmate, the perfect friend—but she felt like all she did was loose control, get drunk, and fuck things up. Trying to be perfect all the time put her on a self-destructive collision course with failure.
