I can't help but wonder if this is what the rest of my life will look like, and think maybe it would have been better to spend it behind bars.
At least there, I wouldn't be the one they're afraid of.
Everyone would be on equal footing.
Here, I feel like I'm one wrong look away from either attacking someone or collapsing onto the floor to escape the cacophony aroundme.
Blaring music, screaming drunkards, bass so consuming I can feel it shaking the floor through my fucking shoes.
Finally getting through the dance floor, I throw myself into the bathroom, falling against the wall inside and burying my head in my hands.
"Hey, you alright?" someone asks, and while I don't want to look up for fear of catching someone at the fucking urinal, I chance it, hoping to be wrong.
Iwaswrong, but what greets me isn't much better.
"You need a bump?" he asks. "You seem like you're getting the shakes or something."
I shake my head, holding up a palm instead of speaking. I'm not sure my dry mouth could form the words right now.
"Ahh," he slurs out in what he believes is understanding. "You'retoohigh. You need a downer. I got some of those too. Just to mellow me out."
The thought of clawing my eyes and ears out to escape him enters my mind briefly before I abandon all hope ofquietand return to the throbbing sound outside.
The same bartender from before finds me as soon as I enter the hall, shouting my name to get my attention.
"What?"
She jogs up to me, placing a hand on my forearm, "She's here."
All the sound around me stops, my entire world revolving around those two words.
"Here?"
She nods, "At the VIP lounge. She's with my girlfriend's cousin's someone or other, I'm not sure."
She's here.
Should I go say hi? Should I wait until she's apart from her group or just find her now?
Will she be excited to see me?
Relieved that I'm okay?
What if she's terrified of me and never wants to speak tome again?
I don't think I could deal with the devastation of finding out the person who was my everything is so afraid of me that I've lost her over crimes I don't even fucking remember committing.
"Don't do anything crazy, Cormac," the woman warns, her face filled with a worry that's too familiar for just an employee.
I take a step back and try to breathe for a second. Rationally, I know that I'm not supposed to storm up and find this woman.Brigit.
If she's with her friends and a strange man shows up with a bunch of tattoos and a million questions about what the fuck is going on, it can only end in disaster.
But my chestacheswith the need to see her. She was my...something.Now, because I don't remember it and I'm a murderer or fucking serial killer, I'm just supposed to go on pretending she wasn't?
"You don't remember me," she breathes, her hands on my forearms to ground me. "But I'm Stella. I've been working here since we opened. We're friends."
Jesus Christ,if this is another woman I've been with and don't remember, I'm really going to have an aneurysm.
