Page 9

I slam my eyes shut.
I need to… I need…
I need another drink is what I need. I twist the door open and make my way to the kitchen without remembering any of the steps I took to get here, weaving through bodies and landing at a glittering sea of half-empty liquor bottles.
I grab for the closest one, not caring what it is, and clutch it in my hand as I pull a red plastic cup from the top of a nearby stack. I pour at least three fingers worth and toss it back, welcoming the numbness that immediately settles into my bones.
Whiskey.
I pour two more.
But before I can swallow it down, someone crowds me in from behind. My pelvis is pushed into the counter with a painful bite.
“Hey, gorgeous,” someone I definitely don’t know slurs into my ear. I slide out from under him and push away from the counter.
“I saw her first, dick,” another guy says, blocking me in yet again.
“Could you two please back up?” I ask. Dealing with drunks almost always goes better when you start by coming at them nicely, I’ve learned.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone at this party?” the first one says, stepping even closer. His hips are now touching mine, and a creeping chill works its way down my spine.
I try to ignore how suffocating it is, being boxed in like this. Try to ignore the memories it digs up and throws into the forefront of my mind.
“Back the fuck up,” I say next, because when being nice doesn’t work, the gloves come the hell off. I have zero patience for this kind of bullshit, or the way it makes me feel.
The first guy laughs and the other one follows. “Not a problem,” he says, not taking a single step backward. And there it is. The look that comes right before the— “Fucking bitch,” he adds.
“What the fuck did you just say?” a third voice snarls from behind me, deep and viscous. If anxiety weren’t clawing at my chest, I might be able to acknowledge the way it sends goosebumps skittering up and down my arms. But as it is, it’s the least of my concerns at the moment.
The two guys finally back the hell off, their eyes widening at the guy towering over the counter behind me. At Jude. I’ve heard his voice all of three times, but it’s already etched itself into the walls of my brain.
The douchebags throw their hands up in surrender. “We meant nothing by it, man, just trying to be friendly.”
Jude’s laugh is short, dark, and entirely unamused. “Get the fuck out of here. I see you again, you’ll regret it.”
And so, they do. Get the hell out of dodge with their tails tucked between their legs. I turn around to thank Jude, but he’s already facing the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and walking away.
Okay.
I catch a dozen pairs of eyes on me after that, when I turn to leave, and my heartbeat ratchets higher, pounding against my ribcage and beating on its walls in an effort to escape.
The room starts to close in on me until I feel like I can’t breathe.
And at first, I don’t recognize it for what it is. The shortness of breath, the shakiness in my chest, the tingling buzz in my hands and in my fingertips, working its way up my arms and through the rest of my body. The mental blanket smothering my thoughts. The tightening in my throat.
At first, it feels like nerves, and anxiety, and the aftermath of what just went down, an uncomfortable number of eyes settling on me in result.
But then it’s like a punch to the gut—becoming aware of the panic once it’s already too late. Once it’s already flooded my system, racing through my veins, controlling my thoughts, and constricting my breaths until I want to scream.
And I am screaming, on the inside.
I’m raging, and thrashing, and falling to the floor in a puddle of tears, yelling at everyone to mind their own goddamn business.
But on the outside, I’m a put-on smile, and a fake stance ofnothing to see here, everything’s fine,and I’m walking out of the kitchen and through the party and out the tall glass sliders, out onto the balcony.
There’s still a crowd of bodies out here, but at least they aren’t paying any attention to me.
Even still, my heart rages, my breaths trapped and begging to be set free. In the suffocating haze of panic, it feels like dying.