Post-Euphoria: Amanda POV

Abe didn't get himself killed after all, as hard as he tried. That's some consolation. I think of neither the fight nor consolations on the ride home. There were still some taxis zooming on the highway at that time,  even as young as the morning was. Chideziri shoved Chantelle and I into the first one that stopped. The cab dropped me off at home and I wave Chantelle good-bye. She was still glued to her phone. She seemed happier at the party, lighter, less like a scared child. I liked that. I think of Chideziri sliding his hand into his hair and pulling at a single stubborn kink. I think of Pascal rolling up the sleeves of his GAP sweater. I think of Abe, just before the fight, I think of how he moved care freely, the mad vibe he gave off. I think of Chantelle's laughter, rare and wonderful. I think of the lights, how you won't think that crimson could be so lively. I replay the night in my mind when I climb the steps, till when I turn the key in the lock. I don't notice the dis