Laurie shakes her head, eyes still surveying the dark hall.It’s the first time we’ve been able to debrief this whole crazy night with just the two of us, and we fall into the easy pattern of conversation we usually reserve for our failed dates.
“Fuckingwild, man,” she mutters, and I shift the first aid kit into my other hand to grab her wrist.
“What.The actual.Fuck, Laurie?”I tug her arm on each word even though I already know we’re both firmly on the same page.“Whyme?”
She’s still shaking her head, rapid, jerky movements against the wall that make her hair go staticky.The bounce of her heels against the carpet reminds me she still needs to pee, and the anxious movement probably has more to do with not wanting to piss herself on top of everything else that’s happened tonight.
Even then, she pulls her gaze from the end of the hall, her voice almost consolatory when she says, “I mean, I think you’re pretty perfect, butGod, Jamie…”
She pins me with a serious look we usually reserve for the times either of us need to intervene with the other’s bad life decisions.Like when I was going to laminate my eyebrows, or when she was going to join an MLM.
“You arenotworth this,” she says, and I have to stop myself from smacking the wall in agreement.Thankgodsomebody said it.You can always count on your best friend to tell you what’s what.And what’s what is that this isfartoo much effort to try and acquire the affections of one person.Thisperson.
“Thank you,” I spit.“Thank you.My thoughts exac—”
The bathroom door swings open, cutting me off as I peek around the corner and catch sight of the others walking back down the corridor.John stops when he sees it’s just me and Laurie idling against the wall.
“Where’s Wes?”
Even though I catch the slightest note of annoyance in the question, his voice is still calm as he closes the distance and leans against the wall on the other side of the hallway.
When he tilts his head back and looks across at me, eyebrowsraised expectantly, I can’t help but appreciate the way his hair falls into his eyes.The strands at the back splay in every direction from the panicked pulls of his hands, but it works for him.So much so I could be tempted to ignore his former MIA status.Before my appreciation can extend too long, Laurie leans out from behind me, her voice strained.
“We thought we saw Billie, so he went to check.”She turns to me.“If we don’t go now, Iwillpee myself.”
I catch a glimpse of John’s eyes narrowing, no doubt over the slight hypocrisy of Wes’s disappearance, before Laurie drags me down the hallway.As we pass Jennifer, I manage to hand the first aid kit to her, following Laurie into the bathroom after she barrels through the door.
When the door closes I throw my corkscrew onto the side of the sink before turning to unzip the back of Laurie’s jumpsuit.She bolts into the nearest stall, her sigh of relief echoing out the half-open door a moment later.
It’s only marginally brighter in the bathroom.The gas lamps have been completely foregone for the same neon strips we saw in the VIP rooms and they make the bandage on my arm glow like it’s under a UV light.They also make the dark stains of blood on my nails look sickly and brown and unbearable.Washing my hands has never been such a luxury.I flick on the faucet and scrub my palms, digging at the space underneath my nails until they’re red from the overhead lighting rather than the mix of too many people’s blood.It’s not until the water runs clear that I turn off the sink and go pee.
When I come out again, Laurie is washing her hands.I catch a glimpse of the telltale signs of what we’ve been through etched across my face in the mirrors above the sinks.It’s not just the downlighting that makes my cheeks look pale and drawn.My winged eyeliner is smudged into the crease of my eyelids and there’s a dark mark on my cheek.Another on my chest.Another an inch or so away from my mouth.At first I think it’s some of my lipstick, but it’s a few shades too dark.
I rub at the stains before I allow myself to debate whether the blood is mine or Curtis’s, and when Laurie hands me a paper towel, I’m able to blot away most of the marks.I’m even able to remove some of the glitter on my arms—with only one hiss at a misjudged tug to my wound.But as soon as I think I’ve got them all another one hits the light and I eventually give up on the task.If the only thing I leave with tonight is a fine-line scar and permanent glitter, then I’ve gotten out relatively unscathed.
I turn from the sink and take in the new design of the restroom.The formerly brushed metal walls of Cravin’ had borne witness to a lot of heightened emotions, tactical spews, and heated debates about whether it wasthat badto send a WYD message to an ex at two a.m.These new red walls seem lighter than the ones outside, but maybe that’s because there’s a false sense of safety being confined in here and away from what is sprayed and strewn and splattered across the hallways in the rest of the club.I’d take those ugly cries, dry heaves, and drunk texts over whatever the hell is happening tonight.
“You ready?”Laurie asks, and I’m about to nod when my gaze shifts across the wall and I spot it.My heart jolts up into my throat and something worse than fear, worse than panic, worse than dread floods through me.Oh my god.I haven’t felt much of it for the last few hours, but it feels, distantly, like hope.
“Laurie?”I whisper.
She mistakes my breathless anticipation for fear and flinches away from the sink, lunging into a defensive position she more likely learned from a body attack class rather than any form of practical self-defense.
“What?”she whispers back.
“Do you see that?”
I jerk my chin up to the space above the tampon machine and she follows my gaze.A few feet above the dispenser, painted in the same red as the rest of the walls, almost camouflaged if not for theslats that cut horizontal lines of black—no, not black, but a muted darkness that hints to space behind the wall—into the messy, matte-red brushstrokes…
A vent.
Very clear, claustrophobic scenes come to mind:Aliens.Dawn of the Dead.And one of the most iconic Christmas movies of all time:Die Hard.
Her eyes drop back down to mine, and I can tell she’s already come to the same conclusion.The solution to this horrifying maze we’ve been stuck in.She may have dedicated her life to the most boring kind of filmmaking, but at least she’s capable of creative problem-solving.
Her voice is still a whisper, but I don’t miss the tinge of excitement that laces her words.
“We could—”
