Chelsea’s POV I bought a cigar from a road side seller and lit it, huffing and puffing, dragging the smoke into my lungs with all my energy. I need to get high and lose myself for a minute. I need to forget self control. I need to feel like my old self again and the thumping sound of a club a few minutes away nicks at my cravings. I doubled my pace, excited for tonight. The club pulsed with bass-heavy music, lights slicing across the smoke like daggers. I let myself move, just for a moment, letting the rhythm take over. For a few minutes, the world outside—the fire, Nathara, the headlines, Ricci gone, Aria gone—didn’t exist. I swayed my hips to a stranger’s smile, took a sip of my drink, and felt the weight in my chest lift just enough to breathe. It was almost enough. Almost. I laughed, leaning on the stranger’s shoulder, letting my hair fall free, letting the alcohol blur the edges of fear and grief. The night was mine, and I could almost pretend I was free. Nob
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