Page 93 of Before You Fell

The knot in my chest unclenches. It happens slowly at first. The lights soften at the edges. The music slides under my skin. People come over to talk to me. I answer. I laugh. I think I make sense.

For a while, nothing matters and it’s the closest I have come to peace in two months.

So I dance. I let the music move my hips and my hands. Men watch. I let their eyes drag over my body. Let them want the girl Phoenix had and fucked up keeping.

Across the room, Memphis watches me.

Talia is nowhere in sight. I wonder if he already fucked her. I wonder if he bent her over a bathroom counter and gave her exactly what he almost gave me. If he fucks dirty. Does his voice get rough and his hands possessive? Does he know how to make a woman forget her own name?

I wonder if anyone fucks as dirty as Phoenix. Then I hate myself for wondering at all.

Soon, the room tilts. Just a little. I blink and it rights itself again. My hands tingle and my mouth goes dry. My tongue feels too big, too thick, sitting wrong behind my teeth. Someone says my name but it reaches me late, dragged through the music and whatever the hell is moving through my blood right now.

I need the bathroom.

The thought hits me hard and suddenly I turn toward a hallway that stretches on too long. My shoulder clips someone as I pass.

I don’t turn around to apologize because the floor feels strange under my feet. Soft, then hard, then too far away. It seems as if I’m lifting my knees too high and stepping through water no one else can see. My heels sound against the floor. Sharp little taps that keep missing the beat.

I finally reach the bathroom and try to open the door.

My fingers miss the handle once.

Then twice.

A laugh slips out of me.

On the third try, I get it.

I stumble in and close the door behind me.

The bathroom is too bright. I grip the sink and my stomach flips. I bend over, gagging, one hand braced against the counter, but nothing comes up. My body clenches, fights, and gives me nothing.

That’s when I realize my body is trying to reject the problem I already let in. The tiny party favor that looked harmless enough, sitting in Sienna’s bag.

“Shit,” I whisper as sweat breaks out across my back.

My heart feels off. Too fast, then too slow, then not right at all, stuttering in my chest as if it has forgotten the entire fucking rhythm.

I turn toward the door.

The room tilts and the mirror slides. The floor lifts. My knees hit the tile hard enough to hurt, and for one sick second, the pain is almost comforting because it means I am still here.

I try to get up, but my legs refuse to work. My body is heavy in a way that doesn’t suggest being drunk, high, or having fun. It’s as if someone has reached inside me and unplugged every part I need to move.

I end up on my side with my cheek against the cold tile.

The music is muffled through the door.

My lashes flutter as the light in the room smears.

I need to get the fuck up.

My mom and dad cannot get this call.

I try to move.

Nothing.