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Yep.
I’d been dealt an incredible hand at life and completely blew it.
I was booed off the stage in less than a minute, and every miserable second was photographed and plastered on the internet before I scrambled behind the curtain.
I booked it for the nearest bathroom, where I watched my relationship, my reputation, and my fledgling shoe company implode in a Twitter shitstorm from the safety of a toilet stall. I didn't know how to fix the problem, other than calling Remy, only to find out he’d ghosted me.
By the time Dinah found me and convinced me to crawl out of the bathroom, I was convinced that getting shitfaced as fast as possible was the only logical solution.
Why did I ever think I could be the queen of my own little kingdom?
I didn’t have what it took to be a queen.
I was a fucking joke.
"Here, take this,” Dinah said, pressing one of her familiar neon blue pills into my hand. "It'll make you forget all about this shit show. You'll feel like your old self again in no time."
I didn't hesitate. I’d taken plenty of Dinah’s ‘happy pills’ since she’d started working for me. They had the same effect as her smoothies did. I tossed it into my mouth and washed it down with the fresh gimlet sitting in front of me.
What did I have to lose?
The promise of escaping my humiliation was all I could think about as I watched the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The bass pounded in time with my pulse, and that neon blue pill slid down my throat, leaving a trail of numbness in its wake.
I shivered involuntarily as a wave of warmth seeped through my body, chasing away the chill of humiliation that had clung to me all evening. For a brief moment, I thought it might be working—this magic blue pill of forgetfulness that Dinah had given me.
But then the memories returned with the force of a thousand thunderstorms, and I knew I was still trapped within my own private hell.
At least nobody at the club had recognized me yet. That was the last thing I needed.
"Are you drunk enough for us to leave now?" Dinah shouted at me.
I shook my head.
“Nope. I’m gonna need a couple more before I'm ready to go home," I told her. She rolled her eyes at me, but I had no fucks left to give.
“Whatever. I’m going to the bathroom. You good?"
"I'm fine!"
She shot me a look that said she didn't believe me, but I didn't care.
"Be right back," she said, sliding off her stool and disappearing into the cacophonous crowd. I stared blankly at my empty gimlet, my thoughts swirling like the melting ice cubes in my glass.
The second she disappeared in the crowd of sweaty club kids, a man with bleached white hair tried to take her seat.
"Sorry, dude," I told him while shoving my Birkin bag where Dinah's ass had just been. "My friend's sitting there.”
The man's pale gaze studied me as if he'd recognized who I was. I narrowed my eyes and turned back to my fresh drink, sipping it slower this time. At least he wasn’t paparazzi.
"Alice?"
"Nope."
"Come now, Alice...I'd recognize you anywhere," he said in a posh accent that grabbed my attention. He took out a shiny gold pocket watch and looked at the time. Then he set it on the bar and frowned at me in disapproval. "You're terribly late."
I glanced down at my long, side-swept cascade of perfectly highlighted blonde waves that led to the plunging neckline of my ruffly blue cocktail dress. With a name like Alice, I knew exactly the reference he was making.
It was pretty ironic, given that he was dressed in all white and had bright white hair. His impeccable suit looked completely out of place amidst the glitter and sweat that filled the nightclub.
