Page 75 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

The crowd is still spilling onto the field as Meghan loops her arm through mine, tugging me down the bleachers with the swarm of students. Everyone is laughing, cheering, and buzzing about the win, but my insides are knotted too tight to feel any of it.

“That was nice of Joey to give you a personal invite.” Meghan’s voice is bright, almost giddy, like she’s already halfway drunk on adrenaline. “You’re coming, right? Biggest party of the semester. We have to celebrate.”

I hesitate, my gaze flicking toward the parking lot where the bright glow of headlights pierces through the dark. I wish I could just… leave. Go home. Pretend I’m sick. Avoid it all. But I’d have to convince Meghan to take me home, and judging by the look on her face, that’s a no.

Maybe Joey will be too busy basking in his golden boy glory, with the whole campus chanting his name and girls lining up to fawn over him, that he won’t pay attention to me. Maybe I can disappear into the crowd and dodge him altogether.

“Bri.” Meghan squeezes my arm, her grin wide and insistent. “Don’t look so gloomy. You’ll have fun. Promise.”

I swallow hard, nodding, even though my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

We weave through the crush of students, the noise so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts. But somewhere beneath it all, a tiny flicker of relief sparks. Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe Joey won’t corner me. Maybe tonight won’t be a disaster.

The thought steadies me all the way to the car.

But when we pull into the party—music thumping, strobe lights flashing, students swarming every inch of the lawn—I see Joey. He’s already leaning against the porch railing like he’s been waiting for me. That too-bright smile finds me instantly in the crowd.

The flicker of relief dies, cold and sharp. There’s no avoiding him. Not tonight.

He pushes off the railing, his stride confident and easy. Cheers erupt around him as a few guys from the team clap him on the back. But his eyes never leave me.

“Bri,” he says smoothly, slipping in front of me before I can reach the steps. His hand brushes my arm like he owns it. “Knew you’d show.”

I flinch, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Meghan loops her arm through mine before I can retreat further, her voice light but her grip iron. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s just a party.”

“I don’t want?—”

“Stop.” Meghan leans closer, her smile wide for the crowd but her whisper sharp against my ear. “You’ll look ridiculous making a scene in front of everyone. Just… breathe. It’s one night.”

My chest tightens. I look at her, searching for the best friend I thought I knew, but her eyes are bright in a way that makes me uneasy. She doesn’t let me answer before tugging me forward. “Come on. Don’t ruin this for yourself.”

Joey’s grin widens as Meghan delivers me straight into his orbit.

He slings an arm around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like I’m a prize he’s earned, and the crowd only cheers louder for him.

Students call his name, teammates shove beers into his hand, and a few girls in glittery tops gush about his performance on the field. But no matter how many people swarm him, Joey doesn’t let me go. His grip on my hip is possessive. A silent claim.

My skin crawls, but to everyone else, it looks like we’re the picture of campus royalty—the golden boy quarterback and the girl he’s draped over.

I try to edge away. Meghan’s voice cuts sharply in my ear again, all sugar on the surface. “Relax. People are watching.”

Watching . My pulse spikes. The noise, the lights, the press of bodies. It all feels suffocating.

“Let’s grab drinks,” Joey says after downing the beers in his hand, steering me inside like I’m part of his entourage.

The crowd parts for him, and Meghan follows close, smiling at everyone like she belongs here more than I do.

Sophie and Melissa follow behind her, grinning at me like I’m part royalty.

They are more Meghan’s friends than mine, so they don’t even know Joey and I broke up.

Unless Meghan told them, but that’s doubtful. She’s too “Team Joey” for that.

The kitchen is pure chaos. Students line up in front of a keg.

Red cups are stacked high, bottles of liquor lined across the counter, and there’s some type of red punch in a bowl.

Sticky puddles are on the tile from the spilled beer and punch.

Music thrums through the walls, bass rattling the glass panes of the cabinets.

Joey finally lets me go, just long enough to pour something dark and fizzy into two cups. He flashes me that practiced smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just soda. You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

I hesitate, my arms crossed tight, every muscle tense. “I’m fine.”

He shrugs, playful, lifting his cup like a toast. Then Meghan distracts me, leaning in close, whispering something about a guy across the room checking her out. I turn my head, scanning where she gestures, just for a minute.

When I glance back, Joey’s hand is already lowering, too quick, too smooth, as he stirs the drink with a casual swirl of his finger.

“Here.” His smile never falters as he presses the cup into my hand. “One sip won’t kill you.”

The words crawl over my skin. A joke to anyone else. But to me, they feel like a threat.

My throat is tight. My palm sweats against the plastic cup.

And I know—I know —I should put it down and walk away.

But judging from the look on his face, I wouldn’t get far.

“Come on, Bri. Lighten up.” Joey winks at me, then grabs another cup and pours punch into it. He hands that one to Meghan.

Meghan clinks her cup against mine. “Cheers.” Red liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim, but she doesn’t care.

Joey’s eyes stay locked on me, unblinking. Waiting.

I lift the cup, my stomach knotted so tightly it aches. The smell hits first—sweet, sharp fizz mixed with something underneath I can’t place. I’m not a drinker. I’ve only ever had a few glasses of wine or beer, never anything stronger.

My pulse spikes, warning bells going off, but Meghan and Joey are watching. And I feel the weight of all these strangers in the house, their laughter echoing down the hall.

One sip. Just one. That’s all I’ll take. Enough to keep them off my back.

The rim of the cup is cold against my lip. I swallow fast, the liquid burning with carbonation as it slides down. It’s sweet and strong. My tongue tingles from it. Or maybe it’s my nerves.

Joey’s smile widens, satisfaction flashing in his eyes before he takes his own sip. “There you go. Not so bad, right?”

I force a thin smile, setting the cup down on the counter like I’m done. But his hand is there instantly, sliding it back toward me, his fingers brushing mine.

“Don’t let it go to waste.”

The bass shakes the floor. My chest feels tight. Meghan throws her arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer, her laughter shrill in my ear.

Meghan and Joey convince me to drink enough that I finally let them drag me onto the makeshift dance floor. Sophie and Melissa offer to hold our cups. Joey hands his and mine to them, then tugs me forward. Meghan follows, weaving us into the crowd.

Joey stays close but doesn’t grind against me, and slowly, my guard lowers. Meghan spins in front of me, laughing, her hand catching mine as she twirls me beneath the flashing lights. “See? Isn’t this fun?” she yells over the music.

I’m warmer now, a little looser from the alcohol. My pulse beats with the rhythm, and a laugh bursts out of me—real and startling. For the first time all night, I almost feel free. Almost happy.

The music thunders, the bass rattling my ribs as colors smear across the writhing crowd. For one fragile second, I let myself believe Meghan might be right. Maybe this is what I needed.

My skin is hot, damp with sweat as I sway to the beat. The crowd presses shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and spilled beer.

“Thirsty?” Joey murmurs, his breath brushing my ear.

“Yes,” I admit, my throat dry, my voice catching.

He signals, and Melissa and Sophie reappear, weaving through the mass of bodies with cups in hand. Joey takes two, pressing one into mine. His grin is easy, practiced. “Here.”

I hesitate, then sip. The fizz masks the bite, sweeter than before. I hand it back after a few gulps, my body already humming, restless.

The floor tilts a little. I blink a few times, and my vision clears.

Joey downs the rest of his like it’s nothing. Meghan whoops, looping her arm through mine as the song shifts to one that’s louder and faster. She yanks me into motion, and I let her, laughing again. But the sound feels too sharp in my throat.

The lights smear into streaks of color. The bass pulses, not just in my chest, but in my head and bones. I blink, but the haze doesn’t clear. My limbs are heavy and loose at once, like I’m moving through water.

I stumble, catching myself on Meghan’s shoulder.

“A little tipsy, huh?” she shouts, grinning like this proves her right. “Isn’t this what you needed?”

I nod, but my tongue feels thick, the word lodged in my throat. Heat crawls up my neck. My pulse hammers an uneven staccato.

The crowd blurs, faces smeared by the flashing lights. My knees buckle, dizziness rolling through me until I almost collapse into Joey.

His hand clamps on my waist, steadying me, pulling me close.

“Easy,” he murmurs, smooth and steady. “I’ve got you.”

Joey keeps his arm firmly around my waist, steadying me like a lifeline. My body wants to lean into it, but my gut twists, screaming against it. No. He’s the last person who should have me.

“You’re burning up,” he says, his voice pitched low and gentle. “Let’s get you some air.”

Air. Yes. That sounds good . My chest feels tight, the music too loud, and the room too hot. I nod, or maybe my head just lolls, because he’s already steering me off the floor.

The crowd shifts around us, oblivious, all laughter and cheers, no one noticing the way my knees buckle or how tightly his hand grips my side.

Meghan flashes in and out of my vision, her face blurred by the strobes.

I think she’s watching us, but then she turns away, laughing at something Sophie says.

Joey murmurs, “Almost there,” his voice smooth and soothing, like he’s proud of himself for playing the hero.

The hallway stretches long and warped, lined with doors that tilt in and out of focus. The roar of the party fades to a dull throb, replaced by the thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

My legs drag. My body feels wrong, like it’s too heavy, yet too light. My head tips against his shoulder, and I mumble, “Outside?” The word is slurred, barely recognizable.

“Yeah,” he lies, stroking my arm like I’m fragile. “Fresh air. I’ll take care of you, Bri.”

Every instinct I have is screaming, clawing inside me. But my limbs won’t listen. My body won’t fight.

The hallway tilts, doorframes blurring in and out of focus. Joey’s shoulder is hard beneath my cheek as he steers me forward. My shoes drag over the floor, useless.

“Almost there,” he murmurs. His voice is steady. Practiced. “You’ll feel better once you lie down.”

Lie down. No. I shake my head, or I think I do. My lips part, but the words crawl out slow, warped. “Outside… I need air.”

He squeezes my arm, his grip too tight. “Later. Just rest first.”

The door shuts behind us with a click that echoes through my foggy skull. The room is dim, shadows smeared across the walls. A bed looms in the center, the sheets rumpled, smelling faintly of sweat and cologne.

My stomach lurches. No.

Joey eases me onto the mattress, his hands too careful, too gentle, like he’s tucking away a fragile thing. My body sinks against the sheets, too heavy to lift. My arms twitch when I try to push up, but they collapse uselessly at my sides.

“I don’t—” The words rasp from my throat, thick and clumsy. “Don’t want this.”

His face swims above me, golden hair damp, blue eyes too bright. “Relax, Bri. I’ll take care of you.”

No. No. No. My gaze drifts past him, landing on the door. Just a few feet away. Freedom. If I could just… move. My fingers twitch, my legs jerk, but they won’t obey. My body is no longer mine.

Joey’s weight dips the mattress as he lowers over me. His lips graze my neck, hot against my skin. I want to shove him off. To scream. To run.

But my voice is a broken whisper swallowed by the room. “Please… No.”

The word doesn’t stop him.

Hands press and slide. His heavy weight traps me. His touch is everywhere, invasive and wrong. My mind claws against it, tearing at the fog, but something drags me deeper, drowning me in a haze I can’t escape.

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. They slide into my hair, cold trails against overheated skin.

This isn’t me. This isn’t what I want.

My eyes move to the door again. I try to reach it in my mind, to imagine standing, running, and breaking free of… this. Going home. But my body stays still beneath him, trapped.

And as the haze swallows me whole, one thought screams louder than the rest.

I wish he was Everett.