The Last Dance

Tonight is Ophelia’s high school reunion. She got the invite weeks ago. Too bad she won’t be there. She decided she would stay home instead, drinking to old memories and remembering old times, both the good and the bad. Ophelia still lived in the area, just around the corner in fact. She just decided she was going to eat pizza and bing watch series she loved as a teenager. For one night, she was going to be young again. It would be enough.

Too bad she RSVPed to go. Too bad she is expected to be there.

Her oldest friends were gathered, just waiting on her. There was Sage, a renown doctor. There was the writer, Penelope. George was head of the local detective squad. The last was Daphne, an event planer. All very respectable people, but tonight, they let their hair down. They stood by the punch bowl, telling stories.

“What about you, Sage? What do you remember?” Penelope asked, giving her friend a light shove.

“Let’s see,” They looked thoughtful. “Remember when Daphne met that exchange student and fell so far in love we couldn’t get her to sit with us anymore? That was fun. Bit odd though, it was so unlike you. You were very cynical about everything, then one day, you just started using flowery language and shit. I thought you had a stroke!”

“Hey, watch it, I married said exchange student.” Daphne’s ears turned red as she showed off a glittery wedding ring.

“When was that? Why wasn’t I invited?” Sage furrowed their brow. 

“It was simple, we didn't want anything flashy. We just went to sign some papers. Ophelia was one of our witnesses. She’s the only one I’ve really been in contact with.” Daphne shrugged.

“Me too,” said George.

“You’re dating her, George.” Penelope rolled her eyes.

“Your point?” The others groaned. 

“What do you remember?” Penelope asked Daphne.

“Let’s see... Oh, remember when I was dating George? That was, no offense, one of my worse life decisions ever. You were a lovesick puppy, not even for me. You were so in love with Ophelia that I honestly think that you were soulmates.” Daphne sniggered. George looked slightly apologetic, which made Penelope snorted into her beverage.

“My turn. You used to write fanfiction about real people.” George poked Penelope, who was greatly regretting her snort. “Not even the cute stuff, either. You wrote some hardcore descriptions of things that shouldn’t be described about people that you know. I remember you let what’s-her-face read one you wrote about me and Ophelia... She was so jealous that she demanded you write one about me and her. Though I do gotta say, I may have used a lot of those moves you wrote the first time we had s-“

“But we don’t have time to unpack all that,” Penelope said, looking thoroughly disgusted and horrified. The other two were looking similarly uncomfortable. 

“Wait. Who asked about that other fanfic? You never told us that,” Sage asked.

“Oh... Irene. About my hight, blood red hair?” The writer made an awkward gesture. “Where is she anyway?”

“She was the only one who reached out and said she couldn’t come,” Daphne said. 

“I keep forgetting you organized this thing.” George stated.

“Hush up, my turn.” Penelope said. “This was really random, but hearing Irene’s name reminded me. You know my first novel, The Last Dance? It was based off of Irene and Ophelia’s relationship. They used to be best friends, then both fell for the same guy, automatically becoming enemies.”

“I noticed that, yeah. Speaking of the two of them, I know Irene’s gone, but where’s Ophelia?” Sage glanced around the room.

“Oh yeah,” George exclaimed suddenly. “I got a text earlier. She’s at home. She decided she’d rather be drinking to old memories and watching old shows than here.” The group took a collective pause.

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Sage said thoughtfully. “Ophelia loves people, and when did she start drinking? She hates alcohol,”

“I get it, I guess. She didn’t exactly have a spectacular high school experience,” Daphne wondered aloud.. Penelope went oddly quietly. 

“Call Ophelia. Now.” She whispered, panic rising in her tone.

“What is it?” George blinked. 

“Ophelia is going to die.” Penelope was hyperventilating.

“Whoah, slow down. What makes you think so?” Sage tried to steady her, to no avail.

“This is the plot of my book. The girl based on Ophelia opts to stay home and drink. The other snuck into her house and-”

“Kills her...” George pales. “Writes ‘thief of love’ on the wall with her blood...”

“Irene has read the book, she texted me after it came out. Ophelia’s text, she would never say that. Call her. Now!” Daphne seizes the phone and dials her number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

“Hey, this is Ophelia. I cant take your call right now. Please leave a message.”

“SHIT, EVERYONE GET IN MY CAR. WE ARE GOING TO VISIT,” Penelope cries, and the other classmates fell silent as the four friends ran past.

Tonight was Ophelia’s high school reunion. She got the invite weeks ago. As the blood soaked through her shirt, she thought too bad i won’t be there. She had decided to go, toasting old memories with a glass of punch and remembering old times, the good and the bad. Ophelia unfortunately still lived in the area.Tears flowed as Irene, once her best friend, dipped her hand in blood and wrote ‘Thief of Love’ on the walls. For one night, she was going to be young again. It would be enough.

Thank god I RSVPed to go, she thought as her friends burst through the door. Not quite fast enough, Irene had already escaped through the back door, but at least they found her. She didn’t have enough visitors to find her otherwise. Even George didn’t come by that often.

“Too bad I was expected to be there...” She smiled, choking on blood as the darkness overtook her sight.