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“I don’t need help with that,” I huff, embarrassed.
She rolls her eyes, frustration etched across her features. "It's better when you don't do it to yourself."
I'm not sure I believe that. I've perfected it, turned it into a science of sorts. It's flawless every time.
If we're heading out tonight, I'd like to steer clear of the alcohol. Drinking isn't my thing, and I've come to terms with that over the past few weeks.
Why does it feel so wrong not to enjoy drinking? Most college students go out every weekend and get drunk, but I don't fit that mold.
I crave control over my body and actions at all times. The only exception in my life is smoking.
Leia seems to read my thoughts. "Do you want to smoke before we go? I'd rather not drink and be hungover for my hangout with the girls from my fashion merchandising class."
I embrace Leia, holding her close. "I love you. Also, yes, that sounds good."
"Fuck yes, we're going out!" She gazes towards our closet, contemplating our outfit choices. "What to wear, what to wear?"
We exchange smiles, each of us venturing outside our comfort zones. For me, it's a step into unfamiliar territory, and for Leia, it's an opportunity to dress up and socialize.
I silently hope that tonight unfolds smoothly.
* * *
Standing at the jam-packed bar where patrons must shuffle and squeeze past one another just to navigate the space, I find myself instantly regretting my decision to come out tonight. Everything always seems like a better idea in my head. Claustrophobia was never my thing, but now, it's a creeping possibility.
Leia, sensing my unease, intertwines our hands, offering a reassuring grip as she guides me through the tightly packed crowd. Ronan mentioned they were at a table near the middle on the left, but with this many people, finding them feels like a near-impossible feat. Leia, however, seems on a mission, so maybe we'll locate them sooner than my pessimistic expectations suggest.
Oh, great. There they are, sitting in a booth close to the bar, surrounded by a mix of guys from the hockey team and some stunning girls – the kind who are dressed provocatively and are effortlessly more attractive than me. For a fleeting moment, the urge to turn around and sprint for the front door hits me. My self-esteem takes a nosedive, and if it weren't for the fact that I'm currently high, I'd probably be curled up on the ground in despair.
But I am chilled out right now. That's the problem for future me to ponder.
As we reach the table, Lincoln spots us and rises, allowing Leia and me to slip into the booth, sandwiched between him and Ronan. We're barely seated when Lincoln leans in closer to my ear, his cologne teasing my senses. "Hey."
I mirror his action, leaning in as well, doing my best to ignore just how incredibly intoxicating he smells. "Hey," I reply, attempting to keep my composure.
With pinched brows, he turns to me, a glint of concern in his eyes. "Are you nervous?"
I can't help but chuckle softly, feeling my heart race with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. "Am I ever not nervous?"
His response is a smooth, reassuring nod. He tilts his beer bottle in my direction, gesturing towards my face. "Your eyes are red."
I try to regain some composure, attempting to open my eyes as wide as I can, flashing him a small, sheepish smile, and mimicking the act of taking a drag from an imaginary cigarette.
The pulsating music in the crowded bar makes conversation nearly impossible. It's all nods and hand signals, and I can't help but wonder who chose this deafening venue.
Glancing around, I notice the other guys at the table vying for Lincoln's attention, but he remains steadfast, his gaze locked on me. It's a guaranteed way to make me even more on edge.
Leia steals my attention by bumping my shoulder, and I turn to face her, momentarily escaping the chaos of the bar. It takes mere seconds for her and Ronan to break into wide, mischievous grins.
"What?" I inquire, feeling a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
She playfully bumps me again. "Let's go dance."
I'm taken aback, questioning her intentions. "Uh, me?"
With a casual, almost dismissive tone, she responds, "Yeah, babe. Dance? I know you can, so let's go."
Ronan playfully waggles his eyebrows in my direction before chiming in, "Come on. I'm sure Lincoln wants to dance with you."
