I buckle up.
Isolde glances over her shoulder, eyes soft. “First time off campus this semester?”
I nod, a little too fast. “Well, I went to dinner with Julian and his family. First time in a truck, that didn’t have a bodyguard in it. Courtesy of my overprotective brother.”
Dahlia laughs, a deep, throaty sound. “Fuck me. How sheltered are you?”
Eve kicks the seat in front of her. “Leave her alone, Lia. She’s here, that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, yeah. You got the address?” Dahlia’s accent is thicker when she’s annoyed. Eve rattles off a street name I’ve never heard and Dahlia grunts, then throws the truck into drive.
We tear away from Westpoint like convicts on the lam, the engine roaring as we hit the main road.
Isolde cranks the window, letting the cold air whip through the cab. “You’re going to love this place, Amara. It’s disgusting and loud and nobody cares who your father is.”
I want to say that’s impossible, that someone always cares, but the words die when Eve leans in, lips brushing my ear.
“Relax,” she murmurs. “We’re safe. No one can touch us tonight.”
I close my eyes and try to believe her.
Eve tells stories the whole way: how she and Isolde once tried to break into the Westpoint archives at midnight, how Dahlia got arrested for shoplifting a bottle of perfume in Rome. The stories are wild, and they make me ache for something I’ve never had.
Friendship.
At one point, Isolde turns and asks, “You ever been in love, Amara?”
The question is so out of nowhere, I don’t know how to answer.
“I don’t think so,” I say, and it’s true.
Eve snorts. “Give it a week.”
Dahlia mutters, “More like a day, at this rate.”
We reach the club just before midnight. It’s tucked in the corner of a strip mall, no sign, just a line of people waiting in the alley, all of them in black or mesh or leather. The bouncer is enormous, his arms covered in sleeve tattoos, but he waves Dahlia through with a nod.
Inside, the club is pure chaos. The music is loud enough to vibrate my teeth. Bodies press together in the dark, lit by strobe flashes and a light show that turns everyone into skeletons and shadows. It smells like perfume, sweat and sickly sweet drinks. I taste it at the back of my throat.
We lose Isolde right away. She makes for the VIP seating, cradling her belly and sipping water like a queen. Dahlia vanishes into the smoke. Eve grabs my hand and drags me toward the dance floor.
It’s hotter here, the press of people so tight I have to fight for every breath. The beat is relentless, a pounding that leaves no room for thought. Eve dances like she’s made of lightning, every movement sharp, angular, beautiful. She throws her head back, laughs at nothing, rolls her hips in time to the music.
I stand still for a minute, watching her. Watching everyone. Nobody cares that I’m new, or that I’m awkward, or that my dress is riding up and my hair is sticking to my face.
No one even looks at me.
It’s freedom and terror, rolled together and shot straight into my veins.
Eve sees my hesitation and turns, putting her hands on my hips. She leans in, her breath sweet and warm against my cheek.
“Let go,” she says. “No one’s watching.”
I try. At first it’s just swaying, side to side, copying her. But the music works on me, loosening my limbs, breaking up the stiffness in my spine. My head starts to float. My arms move without thinking. My heart kicks up in my chest.
Eve grins, pulls me closer. “See? Not so hard.”
We dance for what feels like hours. My skin grows slick with sweat, my legs ache, but I don’t stop. Every song is the same but different, every beat a new excuse to shed another layer of fear.
