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But fucking amusement.

Like seeing me here is the punchline.

Then somebody screams, and Shay slips through the bathroom chaos before anyone can stop her.

Absolutely fucking not.

I back straight out of the bathroom.

Then immediately leave.

Nope.

No thank you.

I would actually love to stop witnessing crimes at raves moving forward.

The bass slams back into me the second I hit the dance floor again while lasers flash violently across the warehouse.

Bodies and smoke everywhere..

Music loud enough to scramble human thought.

Mina finds me near the edge of the crowd almost immediately.

“You look pale, bitch.”

I stare at her for a second, still hearing the muffled scrape of Georgia’s nails against porcelain somewhere behind my eyes.

My mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

Because how the fuck do you casually explain that?

Yeah, babe, quick update, I just witnessed friendship become homicide in a bathroom with no working soap dispenser.

Seems like a lot.

Also, can we just take a second?

Damn, Blair.

Bitch, what the actual fuck is this life?

Other people sneak out and get drunk. Maybe kiss a stranger. Maybe lose a vape, or cry in a bathroom stall over an ex named Tyler who absolutely does not deserve that level of emotional investment.

Me?

I apparently collect traumatic rave crimes like limited edition trading cards.

Overdose in a men’s room.

Possible murder Barbie in the women’s bathroom.

Gang war pending.

Really thriving. Super normal era for me.