‘The drinks,’ I manage to say, before throwing my hand to my mouth and clasping it shut.
I can practically hear the acid roar in my stomach, working faster than I ever thought possible. I turn to face him properly so he can read the panic on my face loud and clear. He’s panicking right back, eyes wide and breath caught as he quickly devises next steps in his head.
‘Can you make it to the toilet?’ he asks, surveying the room.
‘How close?’ I ask.
‘Across the crowd.’
I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘OK, fine– this way.’
He clutches my arm, sweeping me through the crowd and across the room faster than my legs could manage alone. I fear each dancing person, a tall obstacle along the way, but I have no reason to as Aiden steers us through the maze effortlessly. In no time at all, we reach his target destination– a nondescript door at the back of the club. The cool air slaps me across the face, the night stilling once again and allowing me time for a much-needed deep breath.
‘Sit down.’ Aiden lightly tugs at my arm as he takes his own seat on the step where I stand.
I follow, softly lowering myself onto the step as gracefully as someone with tunnel vision can. His arm reaches out to guide me, scooping me into place on the stoop. It’s colder out here by far, but I have hardly any time to feel it before he drapes his suit jacket over my bare, goosebump-ridden shoulders.
‘Elbows on knees, eyes on floor. Breathe as deeply as you can.’
I follow each command in order and he watches closely as I do, hands at the ready in case of any missteps.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, looking down at the ground.
‘I know you are.’ He gives my back a light and pointless rub.
‘But that’s not true.’
‘That you’re fine?’
‘That you believe that I am.’
‘Just keep breathing, Maddy. I’m not cleaning up vomit.’
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, me taking my breaths as he waits patiently next to me. Each inhale fills my lungs with a cold, chilling air that pierces harder than the thudding that sat there before. But, somehow, it’s working– somehow, it’s sobering me faster than the glass of water upstairs ever could. The steadiness starts returning, the ground stops its swaying, and, though still hazy, the world begins to take shape.
‘This isn’t the same,’ I say, drunk courage taking the reins.
‘What?’
‘This– you helping me– this isn’t like the other day,’ I say. ‘You’re not, like, a hero, or something. This isn’t a panic attack. I just drank all those cocktails too quickly.’
‘I know. I never said that it was,’ he says softly.
‘Good, because it’s not. I’m not like this. I’m just drunk.’
It was meant to sound forceful and super direct– but judging by the quick chuckle that escapes his lips, I would argue that it had the opposite effect.
I whinge, throwing my head in my hands. ‘Don’t laugh at me!’
He’s not allowed to laugh at me while I’m incapacitated like this– it’s rude.
‘Would you believe that I’m laughing with you?’ he asks.
‘I’m not laughing.’
‘OK, you’re right. I was laughing at you.’
