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My heart hammers, a frenzied beat against my ribs. This is too much, too close to a truth I’m not ready to face. The fake relationship, a shield—no, a lie we both cling to. But lies have a way of unraveling, and my grip is slipping.
I need to get away.
Maybe I should’ve danced with Maddy. Anything would be better than to sit here and be ignored.
The bass pounds through my veins. It’s a rhythmic pulse mingling with my heart’s rapid thud. Sweat beads on my forehead, not just from the heat of too many bodies but from the simmering tension that coils within me. I need air, space, and a moment to escape this charade.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, slipping past Blake and Sarah, her laughter still echoing in my ears like a taunt. My steps quicken, threading through gyrating couples and clusters of friends locked in animated conversations. Each stride carries me further into the maze of the party, further from the act we’re putting on.
A sharp turn and I’m hurrying down a dimly lit hallway. The door to the bathroom is in sight when a figure blocks my path, leaning against the wall with calculated nonchalance.
“Quite the performance out there.” Juliette Heyday’s voice slithers into the space between us as she pushes off from the wall, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her eyes gleam with something feral. “He’s quite the catch, isn’t he, Amanda?”
My name on her tongue feels like an invasion. I steady my breathing, refusing to let her see how much she gets to me. “I’m just trying to use the restroom.”
She studies me for a beat, her expression bored. “You know how it is. People like Blake will always stick with their own kind.”
I frown, not understanding what she means. “What are you talking about?”
“That woman in there, Sarah.” Her gaze drifts to the direction of Blake for a second before shaking her head. “She’s more aligned with him. Never did I think we’d have something in common.”
“Trust me. We don’t.”
“You sure about that? Sarah has and always will be his match. Did you really think it’d be you?”
“Don’t pretend like you know anything about Blake or me.” I feign indifference, but my heart beats wildly. I’ve never been good with confrontations.
Juliette steps to the side, freeing the way to the restroom. “He’s just biding time with you. Save yourself the heartache. You’re nowhere near his league.”
I shake my head in frustration. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” she scoffs. “Because I can guarantee he’ll pay more attention to her than you.”
Her words strike a chord since that’s precisely what happened the moment she arrived. The curiosity side of me wants to know who the woman is and ask about the dynamic of their relationship, but I don’t want to give Juliette the satisfaction of having something over me. No solidarity packs here.
I shove past her, ready to slip inside the restroom, when her warning causes me to pause.
“Watch your back, Amanda.” She leans in close, her breath a warm whisper against my skin. “Wildcats aren’t known for their fidelity.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, stinging like an accusation—or is it a prophecy? My mouth goes dry, defiance rising like bile. “Blake and I have everything under control.”
“Of course you do.” She draws back, her smile thin and predatory. “Just remember, some games have over two players. And sometimes teammates can be your demise.”
Turning on her heel, Juliette saunters away, her hips swaying with confidence meant to intimidate. Left in her wake, I press a hand against the cool surface of the wall, grounding myself, forcing down the panic that threatens to claw its way out.
Inhale. Exhale. My reflection stares back at me from a nearby poster, all sharp angles and shadows. Is this what everyone sees—a girl out of her depth?
Fuck. Don’t let her get to you.I push off the wall. My hands are trembling, damn them. I slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
But there’s no escaping the gnawing doubt even here, surrounded by the stark sterility of tiled walls and fluorescent lights. Juliette’s words echo in my skull, a mocking refrain. And beneath it all, the deeper fear that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t all an act—for either of us.
I steady my breath, the cold splash of water on my face a sharp contrast to the heat coursing through my veins.
“Blake wouldn’t embarrass me like that,” I mutter, gripping the edge of the sink. My knuckles blanch with the force. “He’s better than that. I’ve seen the real Blake.”
The pep talk sounds hollow, even to my own ears, but it works. I straighten my spine and roll my shoulders back in a feeble attempt at armoring myself in confidence. I am not that girl back in Boston. I am strong, and there’s nothing wrong with talking to a friend. As I push open the bathroom door, the thump of bass and the tangle of voices snatch me back into the fray.
“Hey, Amanda!” A shrill voice cuts through the din. It’s Janet, the girl from class, dancing with a red cup clutched in her hand, her words slurred around the edges. “You’re missing out! Join us.”
