In the past, I have always tried to do what's right. I was my parents' favorite child, their perfect little angel who would do everything to make them smile. The model student who never broke the rules in terms of homework completion or curfew observance.

Why would I want to start a fight? I had the ideal life, after all. Your dream home, complete with acreage to roam and a great climbing tree in the front yard, is waiting for you on this quiet, secluded neighborhood. They were the ideal parents: rigorous yet affectionate, and never, ever at odds with one another. The ideal circle of private school mates since kindergarten. Even the ideal male companion, who is kind, thoughtful, and courteous at all times.

Once I turned sixteen, everything changed.

A wet night. The arc was excessively steep. Front glass illuminated by blinding headlights.

After the vehicle accident that took the lives of my parents, I felt as if I awoke in a different universe. Where the opposites are true. What I fear most is a future without my family and friends. Exactly where I have zero resources.

Aside from David

A few days after the accident, he turned up. My parents made a stranger, an old army comrade of my dad's, my legal guardian, and I have no idea why. Perhaps they were caught completely off guard. In most cases, no.

I don't recall anything from that period since I was completely numb. Just that David paid little attention to me while he was preoccupied with the interminable arrangements for my parents' wakes and burial and, god, I don't even know. The fact that he was attractive enough to spark a thousand daydreams. Amidst my mourning and while shivering with a cold that has persisted to this day, I was nevertheless able to see it.

David sent me off to boarding school the day after my parents' deaths and has ignored me ever since.

Except when I get into trouble.

It was four years after that dreadful birthday that I finally found out how to catch his attention. A buddy of mine came up with the fantastic idea of taking a jet to Madeli for a long weekend of drinking and partying. Help me shake the specters associated with my birthday and move on. I was just eighteen and it was time for me to let go. Fun. The idea was ridiculous then, and it's still ridiculous today.

Have some fun if you have parents. People with enormous holes in their chests where love once resided aren't the ones who get to have all the fun.

I was bored out of my mind, so I made an effort to enjoy myself. It's far too entertaining. Too much booze. Too much sun. Overly many attractive Spanish guys with too friendly hands.

Okay, so I had emotions.

David came out of nowhere, all grim reaper-like, and took the man who was kissing his way up my stomach while I did body shots in a string bikini. Taking off his collared shirt, he stuffed my obnoxious, inebriated body into it and drove me back to school.

At that time, I had persuaded myself that he was not really so attractive, and that the whole thing had been a fabrication of my traumatized 16-year-old brain in response to the biggest tragedy of her life. My naiveté. That he was as attractive as I recalled, and even colder, was no surprise.

As a result, on my twentieth birthday, I did it once again. This is obviously a frat party, thus there will be costumes. My then-boyfriend had requested that I dress as skimpily as possible in a schoolgirl outfit. David frightened the guy so much that he nearly peed his pants, and then he drove me home in a safe manner. Again.

A custom was established. I gave up on trying to get an explanation from him about why he kept showing up. The one night of the year when he showed up unexpectedly became a kind of guidepost for me. Even if everything else in my life was falling apart, at least David would be there to make sure I didn't kill myself with alcohol on the one night of the year I hate myself the most.

So, when are we not talking about this?

Basically, I'm a pampered brat from a wealthy family. Inappropriately large sums of cash. One has an excessive number of phony pals. Way too many dudes are interested in me just for my physique, only to quickly lose interest once they see that I have flaws.

It's time for me to mature and tame my wild side. It's time to quit pining away for a guy who exists only as a ghost one night a year. I'll never really escape the night my parents died. What you've been through is etched into your very being. But it doesn't mean I have to wrap myself in the shackles of sadness and let it draw me down. No more.

I've been promising my therapist that I won't cut myself every year on my birthday to make sure I still bleed.

I'll do all the proper things afterwards.

This evening, though... It's my twenty-fifth birthday, and it starts at midnight. Nine years ago today, I lost my parents and was adopted. Those are certainly lucky numbers, and nobody can argue with me about that. The event will be one for the history books, I promise you that much. It was the best birthday I've ever had. One last attempt to find some kind of resolution.

After all, I am an old man now. For quite some time, that is.

It's no longer necessary for David to play the role of my rescuer. I'm not interested in it.

That which I really want is off-limits. For the last nine years, I've been an orphan, everything has gone wrong. In the nine years he's been my absentee guardian.

For one night only, I must have David. How else can I finally let go of the past? I can't be the only one who's noticed a sudden release of tension in the few times we've been together recently. I can't be the only one who's entertained steamy dreams about what we'd do if he ever lost control, can I?

I intend to find out tonight.

Smiling, I run a hand down the length of my dress. I have given a lot of thought to where to have this birthday party. Unlike when I turned twenty, this is neither a rave, crazy club, or especially intense home party. This birthday celebration has been the most reverent of my life.

The hotel bar is packed at such an early hour, and the clientele has bank balances that make my trust fund seem like chump cash. David will get more than raised eyebrows if he attempts to forcibly remove me from the premises.

That is, if he shows up at all.

A glass of scotch is placed in front of me, and I turn around on my barstool to get it. As I swirl it around in my glass, I can smell the pricey peat and admire its gorgeous color. Scotch is not a beverage I regularly partake in. There are too many memories, and even the pleasant ones are like a knife: a brief, euphoric respite followed by a searing agony. Indeed, even at this late hour.

Possible futility of this effort. David has an eerie knack for knowing just before I completely lose it. That's how I feel right now, but it hasn't always been this way on my birthdays since my parents passed away. Any skepticism that may come from such a hypothesis is dismissed. The situation is unique. I really need this to end things. A full stop after so much mourning.

I used to throw myself into bonfires in an attempt to experience anything.

Tonight, I'll be jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft and crossing my fingers that my parachute doesn't suddenly stop working.

I raise a glass and let the scotch dance on my tongue. There's a tinge of nostalgia in the flavor, and it causes my throat to tighten.

"Darling, you're too lovely to be downing that."

I stifle an impatient sigh. There are three guys seated at a table in the corner, and they have been staring at me ever since I stepped in. They are all at least 10 years older than me and have families of their own. Before mustering up the nerve to approach me, this naive creature inadvertently lost his.

When I'm uncomfortable in my own flesh, I don't have many standards. Nonetheless, there are boundaries that not even I am willing to breach. It's one thing to cause pain to myself by my acts, but quite another to cause pain to another else. I just can't bring myself to do it.

In other words, "Are you going to tell me that only elderly guys drink scotch?" I raise the glass to my lips and take a deep drink while maintaining eye contact with the stranger. Perhaps I'm just not your cup of tea.

He looks at me blankly, the effects of alcohol on his faculties making it difficult for my words to register. Slowly, insight is gaining ground. His already bright red complexion becomes an almost purple shade of crimson. To paraphrase, "You've got a mouth on you."

That's what "the vast majority" of people would say.

His gaze lingers on my crimson-painted lips, which complement the dress that clings to me like a second skin. I'm willing to bet you already have a plan for it.

Having to talk to a guy who thinks a lame pickup line and a quick temper are appealing is becoming old fast. Ultimately, "there's no way to find out."

I look away from him and return my attention to the bar, but I can't help but keep one eye on him. I really doubt he can accept a direct rejection now, given how violently he responded to my statement regarding his evident lack of interest. The bartender has his attention diverted by two attractive ladies on the opposite side of the room. He won't be of any assistance. It's not that I'm in need of assistance, but if I get into an argument, tonight won't go at all as planned. I can't predict when David will arrive, and I certainly don't want him to come to my rescue if I don't really need it.

Certainly not in this calendar year.

The guy straightens up, and I let out a sigh I've been holding back for a while now. It's a direct confrontation. Assuming I can have this taken care of fast, it shouldn't ruin the remainder of my evening. "Hey, you come out as a very pleasant man."

"Have you heard of me before? You can't address me in that manner. He moves forward and into my personal space.

I look across the room at the wall of bottles. All of them are high quality and pricey, however the packaging is boring. Similarly to this person, I suppose. To that, I can only shrug. It's a land of liberty. Don't feel obligated to explain yourself to me for having shown up here uninvited. Whatever I want to say to you, I can say.

"You little' bitch. So you think you're quite hot, huh? His tone becomes agitated and shrill. Pay attention to what I'm saying, babe.

The atmosphere of the tavern changes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I shudder. Oh no. Before David got here, I had planned to handle this alone. I was beginning to think he wouldn't come at all. Well, it seems I was mistaken on both of those things.

"Are you taking me seriously?" The guy leans out to put a hard touch on my arm.

Without fail, he avoids any attempts at communication.

I take a deep breath and turn to see the guy at my back, but David has already grabbed his wrist. A female respondent said, "She wasn't interested." A quiet but distinct voice comes from him. He also seems to be quite enraged.

Oh, man.

Cursing, "Who the fuck are-" his hand splays out as David tightens his grasp. "Fine. Fuck. And even if she weren't, she'd be unattractive.

"Leave." David's tone chills me with its subtle brutality. I wouldn't find it appealing if I were more intelligent. I wouldn't be secretly pleased if he defended me, even if it would make my plans for the evening more challenging.

He showed up.

Because of Philip, I feel dizzy all the time. To the point that I almost didn't hear what he said next. "Get up. "We're getting out of here."

Leaving. Simply put, he is not actually here for me. As he has for the last six years, he has come to save me by wrapping me in blankets and carrying me to safety. I won't stand for it, and his trying to intervene now will make today seem like any other birthday.

I have a single shot at making things right. My options for making a scene are limited to neither raising my voice or being too emotional. Seeing it would just convince David that he was correct and that I am really in danger. There is nothing else to do except to give him nothing to work with. Soon enough, the bartender comes back to the actual bar, and I wave him over, grinning. Inquiringly, "May I have another?"

As David speaks, I feel a sudden tightening in my thighs in response to his ominous tone. "Return to your house."

No. I will not be returning to my house. You're not alone in this. I remark carelessly, "Can't go home." The distance from here to home is rather great. Yes, if not both of them.

You can go to your flat within walking distance in a matter of minutes.

Naturally, he is aware of this. When my parents passed away, a trust money was left to me, and he is the executor of that trust. David has been very prudent with the money; according to my financial adviser, I now have more money than I had when my parents passed away. When it comes to finances, he never talks to me. The financial planner handles all of my demands. The number of times David flat-out tells me "no" is negligible. He has been completely silent to me.

We'd have to have a chat about it.

I look at the time on my diamond wristwatch. Soon, very soon.

"Anna."

To which David replies, "Raise your glass," I offer him a drink. For the sake of nostalgia.

"Anna." Beyond his barely contained fury, something more seeps through his tone. David casts a wary eye around, as if trying to gauge how many eyes are on us. Are we going to have a hard time with you?

Though my chest aches a little, I grin. "People say I'm constantly a pain in the neck."

He faces me again, his black eyes still holding that inexplicable expression. Eventually, he lets out a sigh of relief. "You have one more drink and I'm calling a taxi for you," he said.

You got it right; I don't think so either. The humor in me nearly lets loose, but I know he wouldn't enjoy it. Though I was victorious in our first meeting, I still have a long way to go before I can declare victory in this conflict. And at that same time, the bartender steps up with the second drink. Putting it on the bar, he walks away silently.

I like a scotch when sipping on it. It's quite stalker-like that you continually finding out where I am on my birthday," she said. This seems like a lot of effort for not much reward.

David looks down at his beverage as though it had just insulted his mother. Avoid seeming naive by all means, Anna. Don't bother with it; it's not right for you. To find you, I only need to use social media. You put your whereabouts out there for the world to see.

"Oh. That." I raise my glass and grin. In the days coming up to my birthday, I always, always post and provide my whereabouts. Since my first birthday in Madeli, I have. It's only natural that I update so often. Sponsorships on social media are a major source of income for me. They are fond of sending me on errands. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. It wasn't something I was really interested in throughout my teenage years, but I can now appreciate the rush that comes with a well-curated social media feed. In fact, I've gotten to the point where I'm earning a comfortable livelihood from building them for other people. I don't need the money, but I like doing this.

You pose a serious threat, the speaker said. He whispers it so low that I doubt he even intends for me to pick it up.

He is completely unaware.

We had been drinking in quiet for what seems like an eternity. Instead, David just watches me drink. Fear is creeping in now that the moment has come. That David has been a significant, if limited, part of my life is not evidence that he views me in the same light. I could have made up the chemistry that flares up between us anytime he's in close proximity. It's possible that I misunderstood something that occurred on my previous birthday, too.

As I shut my eyes, I mentally prepare myself. No. Believe me, I didn't misread it. I'm almost certain of it, but the only way to be sure is to take my shot in a manner that he can't ignore. I'm not getting in the taxi with you, David.

"You are, indeed."

"In reality, I am not," I said. When my knees touch his on the bar stool, I stop turning to face him. It just takes the slightest touch to send shockwaves of pain through me. In other words, "I'm about to have a birthday."

You may say, "I'm aware." There's a little tenseness in his leg, but he makes no additional movements... Nothing, not even a move.

You beat the clock. The day of my birthday is the only time you ever come up, and even then you behave like the birthday Grinch after I've already had a good day without you. Nonetheless, I really doubt that what transpired last year could be classified as amusing in any sense of the term. To have fun, all you need is a sense of the absurd. The celebration of my previous birthday was very passionate, and its aftereffects seem to have embedded themselves deeply through my own being. It's something I've daydreamed about plenty of times.

I should probably put it out of my mind if I want to be productive.

"That's a weird way to express gratitude."

I retort, "Because I'm not saying thank you." I didn't need you to rescue me or come seeking for me.

David studies the collection of bottles that lines the bar's back wall. "You had to be rescued."

I'd want to disagree, but it's the truth. I spent a long period in free fall following my parents' deaths, and even though I eventually recovered my footing, my birthday is still the one day of the year that always throws me for a loop. Each and every single year. In that case, maybe he is somewhat correct that I do need rescuing. It's possible that you've been useful on occasion.

When he looks at me, my chest tightens with anticipation. His good looks make me weak at the knees. He has a big frame, which may provide for excellent hugs or enable him to pull someone's head clean off. He had to be in his early forties, but his dark hair is still a bit too long and shows no indications of graying. Last year as he carried me and I buried my face in his beard, I could smell cloves.

David's look is too vague for me to interpret it. One thing I can say for sure is that it's quite exciting. He has a soft, low voice and can convey a lot with only a few words. "Amsterdam."