The next morning, I wake practically with an asthma attack. My nightmare felt so vivid I could have sworn I felt my head splatter onto the concrete ground when I plunged from the vertical runway. But the head splattering effect is really just a bad hangover. I have a very low tolerance level for alcohol. Even wine coolers can have me hugging the toilet. Rachels house party back when we were teenagers surfaces in my sea of bad memories.

I find myself in the lounge room, my clothes are wrinkled and a knitted red blanket is my only source of warmth. I deserve a medal for being able to track down a blanket in my drunken state last night. The patio door is open and the morning dew fleets into the house. It is cold enough that I have to pull the blanket over myself as I stumble outside barefooted. The sound of the waves crashing onto shore is therapeutic, the kind of serenity I havent woken up to since I moved into the city. The sun is slowly peeking over the horizon, casting warm glows across the empty sky. Then I notice a figure standing where the waves crash onto the shoreline. I have to squint my eyes to make out who it is, then I realize it is Rachel.

My feet dig deep into the moist sand as I make my way to where Rachel is, her silky nightgown dancing behind her legs, the hem shyly teasing the waters that climb up the sand. "You never get mornings this calm back in the city," I say as I approach Rachel. She flips her hair over her shoulder, and tells me that I startled her. "I always wondered what the hype was over the sun rising. Its such a natural thing, but actually seeing it feels like a once in a lifetime phenomenon."

"I think it has something to do with gratitude, like the sun rising equates to another living day," says Rachel. I glance at Rachels face, cast with the morning glow, but her underlying expression does not radiate gratitude. "Is something wrong?" Rachel is quiet for a while, only the sounds of crashing waves answer me. She sighs deeply. "Do you think I havent experienced it all?"

"This is about what Santana said?" I frown. I knew it had affected her, but Santanas words are like temporary tattoos. They look fake and hideous, but comes off with just a little bit of water, but faster with alcohol. "Since when do we let that evil vixen get to us? And while were on the topic of her, why is she here anyway?"

"Shes my wedding planner. Didnt you know? YouTube didnt really take her that far, but her wedding business is crazy successful. Shes done a few high profile weddings. She planned Larry Kings 9th wedding, or was it tenth?" says Rachel. This is absolutely baffling to me. Santana Lopez, the devils mistress as a successful planner of a ceremony that celebrates love? I wonder if pigs have flown too. "Maybe she has a point."

"She does not have a point. Trust me, the last person you want to take marriage advice from is Santana Lopez. Her job is for the shallow optics, love is a deep sentiment that she doesnt understand. A lot of people who dont have what you have wont understand. And besides, you and Finn were genetically programmed to find each other," I tell her. "I think there is a beautiful simplicity to marrying your first love."

Falling in love for the first time will always be the most monumental memory you hold in your heart. There is a simple explanation for this - you live your life thinking this is it, that this is what life has to offer, a list of goals to achieve, then you meet someone, and its as if you opened a completely new door in life. You discover a completely new feeling, a new perspective. Like discovering a great song, it fills you up and its exciting and its like youre the only one who knows about it.

But it also determines the rest of your relationships. For Rachel, she will live her life thinking love is built to last, that love leads to a happily-ever-after at a sunset wedding, but if your first love breaks your heart, you will live with a preconceived idea that love leads to nothing but destruction. Ive always thought my relationship with Blaine ruined me and took away my optimism, but sometimes I sit and wonder if its because I choose to let him ruin me.

"Youre right," says Rachel and I am glad she regained her senses. "Maybe Im just nervous."

"Yeah, and its normal to be," I tell her. "So how about we enjoy the last few seconds of this sunrise in silence because when we go back to the city, well never experience this again," I say and Rachel nods in agreement as she hooks her arm with mine and we watch the sun gradually climb to the peak, and I am filled with an overwhelming sensation of gratitude that I get to witness this.

When the show is over, we return back into the house where Noah is already awake, feasting on a variation of breakfast menus laid out for us. He tells us to hurry up and dig in before he eats everything up, with his mouth full and crumbs jumping out to attack us. I take a mug and pour coffee into it while Rachel opts for pancakes and a conversation with Noah. Ive never had breakfast by the beach before. I mentally note to check this off my bucket list. Pretty soon, the rest joins us. Finn looks disoriented with his hair awkwardly sticking out every which way, Santana floats out of the house and claims she just woke up when I can see the fresh mascara in her lashes. Blaine is nowhere to be found. I wonder if hes with the chef telling him what I like for breakfast in an attempt to get on my good side. The thought is shameless, but hilarious in my head.

"So, were heading into the local town later today," tells Santana as she pours orange juice into a tall glass. "Rachel, I set up a private fitting with bridal boutique owner here. Its where Ashley Simpson bought her wedding dress." Its so weird to hear Santana all professional. I would never have pegged her to go into this line of career but if shes successful, good for her since the only thing she wanted since high school was success, and she didnt care how she would go about achieving it. Rachel nods diligently as she chews on her pancakes that are drowning in maple syrup. Blaine finally arrives not too long later, in plaid boxers and a white t shirt. He still looks sleepy and I am reminded how adorable he looks when hes still in that somnolence state with his eyes barely open and his nose red and puffy from his sinus infection. I want to beat myself up for knowing this.

"Oh, hobbit. Glad youre finally joining us, so I can congratulate you for being such a sweetheart last night," says Santana and a deep frown reads across Blaines face. He ask what is she talking about and she laughs like shes glad to be the bearer of secrets. Did they hook up? I will stab myself with this blunt butter knife. "I was talking about how you made sure lady Hummel here didnt freeze to death last night. You remember? Curled up little baby figure? Red blanket?"

Blaines sleepy face burns bright red and awake, and so does mine. I dare not look him in the eye and Im glad he doesnt dare look into mine either. So if his game is to prove his nice guy card by doing little heart-warming gestures like not letting me itch and scratch from crustaceans, what is his game for secretly putting a blanket over me? I feel the anger rising inside of me already. I have to clutch on the edge of this table to stop myself from completely imploding in rage. I dont know whats worst, the notion that he genuinely still cares for me, or not knowing what hes getting at. "I would have done it for you too, Santana. Dont need to get all jealous about it," he brushes it off. Our eyes briefly meet but he quickly looks away. I clear my throat and casually thank him. From the corner of my eye, I see Santanas victorious smile of successfully making us feel more awkward than we already feel. If I had a gun right about now.

I am first to leave once I was done with my breakfast. Rachel reminds me to be downstairs in about an hour so we can go into town together but I barely hear her through the loud pounding inside my chest. When I reach my bedroom, I toss myself onto the bed and scream at the top of my lungs into the pillow from the frustration of having Blaine being all nice with me. I dont want him to be nice because it makes hating his existence harder, but truly I wish I was indifferent. But he was my first love.

I strip off all my clothes and jump into the shower, hoping the running water would seep so deep into my scalp so much so that it can wash away all my angry thoughts. I hate myself for letting one particular person affect me so profoundly. Its like not having control of your own body. Absolutely frustrating. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize the person staring back at me. Ive been a shining beacon of independence for so long, and in the span of a day, Blaine Anderson stole the control I have over my own emotions. I hate him for that, but not as much as I hate myself for letting him.

I take longer than usual to get ready, applying lots of moisturizer and sun block over my pale skin. I never want to be tanned. People are made to look natural, not bread toast. I don a light blue tank top and striped board shorts with Chuck Taylor shoes. My hair is so stubborn in open air, so I apply a lot of wax to keep it in shape. So much for being natural. When I go downstairs, the house feels empty so I assume everyone is already waiting at the string of cars outside but when I walk out, there is only two cars around and only one person standing there.

"They left first. There wasnt much room left in their car so I thought we could be together - drive together, I mean." Blaine is leaning on the side of the black Sedan, arms crossed dressed in another breezy white shirt with the top three buttons undone, exposing the little hairs on his chest. As if he didnt look good enough, he wears RayBan sunglasses and looks like Tom Cruise with them. I wish I wasnt so damn easy to flutter. "Im driving," I say because there is no way hes being in control. I stride past him and grab the keys he dangles with his fingers for me. This ride should be interesting. "I dont remember you knowing how to drive a manual."

"6 years, Blaine," I remind him and he chuckles. I turn the ignition on and drive away from the house, with Blaine giving me directions because apparently, on top of looking like Tom Cruise, he is also good with directions. I am going to beat Rachel with my phone when I see her. How dare she abandons me and force me in a car with Blaine. "So, Rachel told me youre working for Hugh Shepard. I love his clothes." Im going to beat her harder for this.

"Yeah, its great," I respond, but even I can hear the feigned indifference in my tone. I hear him giggle under his breath and I frown. "Whats so funny,"

"I feel like Im not allowed to know about your life," he says and I force a laughter. Of course hes not allowed to know about my life. Its like giving Al Qaeda the President of the USAs itinerary. Maybe not that extreme, but same logic. I realize if hes going to pry about my life, I have mutual rights to pry into his too.

"So what do you do now? Did you get your degree in journalism?" I ask. Blaine was accepted into Northwestern to pursue a degree in journalism. He had always wanted to be a journalist. At some point in high school, he and this other student, Jacob, started a campus news broadcast where they bombarded everyone with pressing questions on social issues of McKinley. I was, very often, the person he interviewed after school, but it always ended with us making out in his bedroom. Blaine is quiet, but I feel his eyes on me. When I look over at his seat, he wears a subtle frown. I ask, "Are you deaf?" but let out a laugh to make it less offensive.

"I didnt go to Northwestern," he tells me. "And I didnt end up pursuing journalism either." He lets down this surprising turn of events very gently, and I reckon it is because he is surprised I dont know. "I decided to pursue a career in medicine." It is like he completely pulled off his mask to reveal a face I dont recognize at all. When we were together, he never once talked about wanting to be a doctor or frankly any aspect in a medical career. It is like a sinister red mist casts over me for some reason, and I am surprised that Im actually angry but I manage to stay rooted and play the casual card even though I feel like Im going to melt into a puddle.

"Medicine, wow. Thats ambitious of you," I tell him. I stare straight ahead because I fear looking at him might kill me harder. Its like I never knew Blaine at all. "So youre a doctor now?"

"Resident," he says. "The road of medicine is a real stretch," he says.

"It should be. Were talking about saving lives," I slip in. "What medical school did you go to?" I ask. This drive feels as if it has gone on forever, and Rachel said the local town is a ten minute drive. It feels like Ive been driving for at least an eternity. I change my mind, I do not want to pry into Blaines life. I fear the more I uncover, the more I realize I never really knew him, and that is not something I want to find out about someone who held my world at the palm of his hands once. He is quiet again. I can feel it in my bones that it is something hes afraid to tell, but finally he does and I wish he hadnt.

"Highland Park, School of Medicine." My neck could have snapped at how sudden I turn to his direction. His figure is curled in, shoulders forward and chest in. My heart is hammering in my chest. "And where are you doing your residency?" I ask, very timidly because I only partially want to know the answer. "Gilbert Wright Memorial Hospital." It is as if someone punched me right where my heart is, but just as quickly does somebody shocks me. Blaine jumps for the steering wheel. I hadnt realized I almost drove the car into a coffee house. When I pull the car into an empty parking slot, I breathe in slowly.

"Youve been in New York this whole time?" What makes the whole truth worst is the fact that Gilbert Wright Memorial Hospital is merely 5 blocks away from Hugh Shepards building. "6 years, right?" he says to me. I feel the heat starting to rise to my cheeks, and slowly build up the pressure behind my eyes. "Yeah, you definitely proved yourself." I jump out of the car before Blaine has any opportunity to betray me further.