The women’s bathroom is narrow and loud, two stalls and a spotless mirror, the floor already sticky under my boots.
I lock myself into the far stall and press my forehead to the metal door.
Thirty minutes.
I stare at my phone until the screen dims, then wake it again, counting seconds like they’re coins.
When I finally breathe, it hurts. I hate that my body wants to apologize for taking up space.
A knock hits the stall door. “Hey,” a woman calls over the music. “He wants you back out there.”
My mouth goes dry. “Tell him I’m sick,” I say. “I’ll be out.”
Her heels click away. I stay where I am until my hands stop shaking.
By the time I splash cold water on my wrists and fix my face in the mirror, twenty minutes are gone.
Tenminutes left.
I step out of the bathroom with every intention of walking straight to the exit.
Just act casual, Violet!
I barely make it two steps before one of the VIP guards shifts into my path.
He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t smile.
“VIP’s this way,” he says, gesturing back toward the lounge.
Like I forgot.
Like leaving was never really an option.
My throat tightens. I nod, because arguing would draw attention. Because attention feels dangerous.
So I turn.
I walk back toward VIP, trying to look steady, praying I’ve already been replaced. That I wasn’t worth the trouble.
He’s still there.
His eyes find mine, and he rises from the couch. He closes the distance in three steps.
I look at my best friend again, desperate. She’s still laughing, head tipped back, the guy’s hand around her waist, like I didn’t disappear for almost half an hour.
Right now, I hate her. A sharp, ugly resentment flickers, and guilt follows right after.
“Come on,” he says, impatience rolling off him. “Let’s go.”
I swallow hard.
Stall. Act natural.
I take a breath and force my face into something calmer. I’ve had years of practice pretending everything is fine. Years of walking through bad moments like they’re nothing because making a scene only makes people angrier.
“Okay,” I say, soft. “Can I say goodbye to my friend first?”
His eyes narrow. He’s deciding if he should allow it.
