The olive-green sweater dress.
The ankle boots.
The practicality of it all.
It’s the outfit I wore to meet James for dinner.The outfit of a woman with a plan, a future.Now, it feels like a costume from a life that no longer exists.
I tug self-consciously at the hem of the short dress, feeling a flush creep up my neck.
Pushing toward the bar, the press of bodies against me is both unsettling and strangely comforting.A reminder that I’m still here.Still real.Even if everything else feels like a bad dream.
I need a drink.
I need several.
The bartender, a harried guy with multiple piercings, slams a vodka soda in front of me.He barely makes eye contact.I take a long swallow, the liquid a refreshing cold against the blazing heat in my heart.
The music swells.The lights brighten.
Another drink.
Tequila this time.
I grimace.
It burns a path down my throat.
The dance floor beckons.
I hesitate, then plunge in.Bouncing bodies close in around me.I start to move, awkwardly at first, then with growing abandon.
A flash of a smile from a stranger.
I look away.
Another drink.
I don’t even remember ordering it.
The music is inside me now, a driving rhythm dictating my movements.I close my eyes, letting the beat take over.My arms lift above my head, body swaying.I undo the tight bun at the nape of my neck, freeing my hair, letting it whip around my face.
A hand brushes my waist.
I shove it away.
Another drink.
I drain the glass almost as soon as it’s placed in front of me.
I slam it down on the bar.The sound is swallowed by the club’s roar.
I’m dancing again, but it’s different now.
Desperate.Wild.
I’m not dancing to the music; I’m dancing against it.Fighting the pain, the anger, the loss.
The lights blur.
