2

Chapter 2

Dolly's POV

The music hit me before the doors even opened. Loud, aggressive, pulsing like a heartbeat that belonged to someone a lot more alive than I felt. Neon lights sprayed across the sidewalk, painting my bare legs and arms with pink and purple and sickly green.

Inside was chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Lights slicing the dark. Music that pounded into your ribs.

Amira pulled me inside with a tight grip on my wrist.

I didn’t realize I was still holding the cake until someone bumped into me and it nearly flew out of my hands. A part of me wanted to take it outside and smash it into the sidewalk. Another part wanted to cradle it like it was the last thing I had that hadn’t betrayed me.

She led me through the crowd like she knew exactly where to go. I followed dumbly, my heels wobbling, my throat dry, my chest aching.

We slid into a booth near the bar, low and velvet-lined, half in shadow. Amira took the cake from me and set it down on the seat.

“Stay,” she said. “I’ll get drinks.”

I nodded. Or maybe I just blinked. I wasn’t sure anymore. Everything felt a little out of sync.

I sat there, clutching my purse like it was going to stop the heartbreak I felt from seeping further in, People around me were laughing, dancing, grinding against each other.

I looked down at my tight, red dress, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t this girl. I wasn’t the one who came to clubs and drank away her pain. I was the girl who waited. Who believed in love. Who bought gifts and asked for tips on how to lose her virginity from her best friend.

I had been that girl.

Now I didn’t know who I was.

“Here,” Amira said, sliding two drinks onto the table. One was bright blue with sugar on the rim. The other was something orange and tropical looking. She nudged the orange one toward me.

I stared at it.

“Drink,” she said gently. “Please. Just… try to have one good night.”

My hand trembled slightly as I lifted the glass. It smelled like fruit punch and alcohol and maybe something else I couldn’t name. I took a sip wearily.

Amira raised hers. “To new beginnings.”

I hesitated.

“Come on, Doll,” she said with a grin. “You didn’t lose anything. You dodged a bullet.”

I forced a small smile. Forced the rim to my lips again. Took another sip. Bigger this time.

I hated how easy it was to pretend.

Amira leaned back in her seat, crossed one leg over the other, and took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. “Okay, real talk,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “I’m giving myself permission to be a complete slut tonight. I mean, did you see that guy by the DJ booth earlier? The one with the tattoo sleeve and the jawline that could slice diamonds?”

I blinked at her. “Mm.”

She grinned, undeterred. “He looked like sin dipped in leather. I swear, if he even breathes in my direction, I might just fall on my back and spread out like a damn picnic.”

That earned a weak laugh from me, more breath than sound. I was trying. Really. Pretending wasn’t that hard. It was the feeling that was impossible.

Amira nudged me gently with her elbow. “Come on, Doll. Laugh. Just a little. I know your heart’s in shreds, but I’ll stitch it up with tequila and orgasms.”

I gave her a look and snorted. “You’re insane.”

“Sexy and insane,” she corrected, fluttering her lashes dramatically. “Don’t forget that part.”

Just then, the guy she’d been ogling all night approached our table. He was tall and had muscles that filled out his black shirt perfectly. Amira straightened in her seat, subtly adjusting her cleavage, licking her lips.

He didn’t spare her a glance.

His eyes locked straight onto me.

“You look like you could use a dance,” he said, voice smooth like velvet and danger. “Care to join me?”

I blinked, stunned. My mouth opened, no words came out.

Amira let out a soft, breathy laugh and leaned forward before I could answer. “Oh, she’s not interested.”

He glanced at her like he’d just noticed she was there, then back at me. Waiting, with arms stretched out to take my hand.

“No, thanks. I'm good.” I thinned my lips.

Amira reached across the table and smacked his hand off mine like he’d touched a hot stove.

“She said she’s not interested,” she chirped, with a tight smile and narrowed eyes.

The guy raised an eyebrow, gave a low chuckle, and stepped back, palms up. “Damn. That was rude,” he muttered, eyes flicking to me one last time.

“I thought you wanted him,” I said once he turned and melted into the crowd.

Amira let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah,” she sighed, downing the last of her drink. “But he didn’t want me.”

There was something sad beneath her voice, something bitter she tried to drown with the ice at the bottom of her glass.

She sat straighter, pointing to mine like it offended her. “Come on, Doll. We’re not gonna sit here with full drinks and broken hearts. Bottoms up. This one’s for ditching losers and learning to party.”

A new song came on, some sexy, thumping anthem that made people jump up and wiggle their bodies.

Amira raised her glass and started dancing in her seat, singing along in her loudest, worst voice. “Dooown it, biiiitch! This your cleansing rituaaal!”

A little laugh escaped me as I lifted my glass and drank.

I managed to dance on my seat. Amira and I went multiple rounds of drinks when I started to feel… off.

My arms felt heavy. My head light.

I blinked slowly and looked around. The lights seemed brighter. The bass deeper. Amira’s face seemed to stretch and shrink between each flash of neon.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. Or atleast I thought I did.

I giggled. I didn’t know why. Something in the way a particular man at the bar was dancing reminded me of a chicken. Or maybe I just imagined it.

Amira said something but it was muffled. It felt like my ears were underwater.

I blinked again, my glass was empty.

“Whoa,” I murmured, leaning back. “That hit fast.”

Amira watched me carefully. Too carefully. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face.

“You’re okay,” she said, voice soft. “Just relax.”

“I think…” I licked my lips. They felt numb. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

“Need help going, or?”

I nodded. Tried to sit up straighter. “No. I—I really think—”

My words melted. My vision doubled.

The music slowed and then sped up again.

Everything felt funny.

“Amira?” My voice cracked as I giggled through my words. “Something’s… everything’s funny.”

“Yeah, babes, it's called after-effects of heartbreak mingled with loud music and alcohol in a club,” she shouted above the music, eyes sparkling.

I don’t know why, but I cracked up. That was very funny. Like, funnier than it should’ve been.

"I'm very serious, I really need to use the restroom."

“Okay, babes. Be safe, don’t pass out there or throw up. It’s gross.”

I waved her off and stumbled through the crowd, clutching my stomach like I was trying to hold in a laugh, or maybe something else. I couldn’t tell anymore. The lights were too colorful. The people were too loud. My legs were too… floaty?

I couldn’t feel my thighs. My knees wobbled like spaghetti. Why was that funny?

I giggled to myself again as I made it to the restroom hallway, leaning on the wall for support, still laughing. My heels scraped against the floor with each step I took.

Behind me, I thought I heard footsteps.

My head swayed to the side like a broken doll. “Amira? You following me to watch me pee? That’s very gay of you,” I chuckled.

No response.

The footsteps stopped.

I blinked, then snorted. “Wait—babe?” My voice trailed up, suddenly bright. My heart skipped a beat, warm and hopeful. “Ryan?”

I turned around, smiling.

No one was there.

Just the flickering hallway light above the restroom door and the distant echo of bass thumping from the club.

My smile faded. My tongue felt dry and weird. I slapped my own cheek lightly, giggling again like a lunatic. “Dolly, you’re a mess. Girl, get it together.”

I pushed open the restroom door, the hinges creaking like some low-budget horror movie. The lights inside were too white. Too sharp. It made everything feel fake, like a set on a stage. My reflection in the mirror looked like it wasn’t mine.

I blinked at her, then stumbled into a stall and shut the door behind me. Everything moved slow, like underwater.

Just as I was about to sit, I saw it, feet. Two black boots slid quietly into view from under the stall door. Not Amira’s strappy heels. Not club shoes. Boots. Potentially a man.

My throat tightened.

I leaned forward, dizzy. “Amira?” I called out hoping to remind the boots he'd stepped into the women's restroom. My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. “Is that you?”

The restroom door creaked behind the stall. Then… click.

A soft, too-clear sound.

It was locked.

My heart dropped.

“Okay, not funny anymore,” I said, louder this time. “Amira, seriously. Stop playing.”

There was total silence.

I suddenly felt like I was falling inside my own body.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

I reached for the stall lock but my fingers weren’t listening to me. They slipped twice before gripping. My breath came faster.

I pushed the door open just enough to peek, but no one was there

My thoughts were screaming, but everything around me was still.

I backed up, my legs shaking. Then something brushed against the back of my dress.

I spun. Darkness swallowed the edges of my vision as I opened my mouth to scream.

But nothing came out. Everything went black.