There’s something so seductive about it.
The press of our bodies in a darkened room.
The way the ultraviolet glow enhances the contours of his arms and chest.
The slick sweat that makes his shirt cling.
An invitation of sorts.
I’m not oblivious to what the others are passing around underneath the table.
I say a firmnowhen it’s offered to me.
Does it make me feel a little uneasy being around substances?
Maybe.
As the child of an addict, who could blame me?
But it’s not like Olsen is a drinker.
That would be worse, right?
And at least he saves the powder and pills for parties only.
Perhaps it’s dehydration or lack of sleep that causes me to spiral tonight.
A claustrophobic heat closes in on me as the music pulses.
Heart rate spiking, the floor begins to spin beneath me.
Somehow everything looms louder, brighter, more abrasive.
“You okay?” Roz asks. “You look a little peaky.”
“Think I might be having a panic attack,” I yell over the noise.
“Come outside with me, babe.”
She takes me by the hand.
Together we sit on the curb, cool air soothing my nerves.
The steady groan of the bass hits a crescendo when the door bursts open.
“Is he okay?”
Olsen looks worried.
“Yeah, just feeling a bit anxious,” Roz soothes. “Smokey as fuck in there. No ventilation. Breathing in all that weed made me feel yuck too, the first time I came here.”
I adjust to it eventually.
Kind of impossible to avoid when all of my mates work in the party scene.
But I linger toward the edge, bolting outside for fresh air whenever I can.
It’s there in the alley that I spot a lone star in the sky.
