Night out

My phone buzzed angrily, like it was broken. I picked it up with a tired anxiousness in my gut.

“Okay boy, I get that you’re angry, but can you at least talk???” — Erica.

Then Henry’s messages, a string of “Alfieeees.” It made me chuckle. I wasn’t angry at them. I was angry at myself. We never hid things from each other, and I was hiding too much now — especially the recent developments with Riley. I wasn’t going to do that anymore.

So I hosted a group call. I apologized. And then I told them everything. I mean everything — even the things I had yet to admit to myself. Like how I think I had a crush on him.

Crush.

I had never used that word before. But the moment it left my throat, I believed it. I knew it was real.

“Oh my goodness, it’s the typical bully and his crush. I have read and watched everything in that trope, so cute,” Henry squealed.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Honey, this is not—” Her tone climbed higher, more impatient. “Look, Alfie. I don’t think we can trust him. Not after everything he’s done.”

“I know…”

“It’s not even like we’re dating or anything.”

I watched Erica purse her lips, like she was about to say something and decided against it. Then she said, “Okay, honey. But you’re not going anywhere in that dress. Mmmgh mmgh.” She launched into color theory, what worked for a night outfit, what was more flattering. Henry just kept pressing that I should make sure I have fun and tell him everything.

The night air held a warning coldness that made me tug at the open sides of my arms, trying to create even the littlest warmth.

Two men stood at the entrance — huge, tall. I thought they would stop me, ask for a ticket or something. They didn’t. Even after I passed, I wondered if they had seen me at all.

The second I stepped inside, the smell of alcohol and bud hit me hard, mixed with the severe sound of the speakers. Neon lights sliced through the room in layers. The disco threw confetti of light through the air.

It felt like I was invisible, yet everyone could see me. The way people walked, talked, danced — there was a graceful certainty in all of it. Even their laughs had a controlled similarity. A symbol of belonging carved into the smallest things. And in that, I felt excluded. I always had. But this time it pricked sharper. I stuck out like a sore thumb.

After a few minutes of pushing through people whose laughter could buy a yacht, my eyes finally found Riley.

And I felt something settle in me. Calm. Maybe hope.

He was, of course, surrounded by his friends — including Kimberly, whose blonde hair glowed golden under the dim light. She was pressed against his chest in a way that made my stomach burn.

He had asked me to come.

And now I was here, and he wouldn’t even see me.

Something hot and sharp pushed me forward until I was standing right in front of their table. They all turned — Liam, Richard, Kimberly, Riley — looking at me in an outfit that still felt too odd on my skin.

“Huh? How did he get in here?” Kimberly asked, looking around like the answer was hanging on their faces.

“I see these lowlifes who were fortunate enough to wear similar badges have suddenly forgotten where they belong,” Liam snarled, mocking and raging.

“I asked him to come.”

Riley’s voice dropped — low, final.

Their laughs died at the root. Confusion settled on their faces. A sharp sting of pride went through me when he said it, especially because he said it looking straight at me, into my eyes. My breathing turned uneven.

No one dared speak. Liam was furious but helpless under Riley’s resolve. I was asked to join them at the table.

The tension around us was so thick I could feel the air crackle.

Soon they all left, one after the other, saying they were going to the dance floor. Even Kimberly left, begrudgingly, shooting death stares at me. Somehow I didn’t care. And I wondered if that made me a bad person.

Riley wasn’t speaking. He just stared emptily into nothing while he kept taking heavy gulps of alcohol. The way he held the glass — so tight I feared it would shatter — told me everything. There was a withheld rage in him, still mourning the match, replaying every move, trying out different tricks in his head. He would usually explode on his teammates. Tonight, with his injured ankle and the fact that he was the poster card for why they didn’t win, he was exploding on himself. Trying to drown the flames with alcohol.

“How is your leg?” I asked carefully.

“My leg is fine.”

“Okay. Did you see the doct—”

“I SAID MY LEG IS FINE!”

He hit the table. A bottle fell and shattered. He stood up and left.

A harrowing silence swallowed me whole.

Something broke inside me at the same time the glass broke. An intense urge to cry rose up my throat. I poured myself liquor. It was bitter, but the more I took, the lighter I felt. The thousand ropes that had been strangling my heart began to loosen. So I drank more. And more. And more. Pouring whole glasses and taking them all in.

Something was coming from deep inside me and I needed to let it out. By the time I started finding my way to the bathroom, I felt so light my feet couldn’t feel the floor. It felt like I was walking on air. I fell just before the restroom and started vomiting, body convulsing as I released gallons of fluid through my mouth.

Someone was pulling me up. Raising me. Moving me. I was doing things I couldn’t make sense of.

Those were the last things I remembered before I woke up.

The bed was bigger. Softer. The ceiling too high.

And when I turned, someone was lying next to me.

It was Riley.