“Go get her,” August groans, “this whole sad boy bullshit doesn’t look good on you, and it sure as shit isn’t making either of you feel better.”
“You guys need each other,” Blair says.
The club is dark, flashes of neon lights the only thing allowing me to see the sea of people around me. Music pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of my own misery.
This is the only place where I don’t feel.
The floor vibrates from the music, the speakers shake the walls, people bump into me, all of it muffled and muted from the sheer amount of liquor I’ve consumed since getting here.
Seeing her on campus every day feels like someone’s ripping my heart out, and after watching her get into Lucas’s car earlier… I needed to not feel.
I know she’s still friends with them, that they still get to see and talk to her whenever they want, and it’s killing me.
Her voice haunts me. It keeps me awake at night, taunting me, torturing me with the mistakes I’ve made.
Why did I leave her?
Why would I do that?
She was the only thing that made me feel like I was normal. She took away all the pain, made me feel like I could actually make it to tomorrow.
She was my hope, my sunshine.
And I fucked it all up.
I take another sip of my drink, allowing it to dull my senses.
The lights continue to flash, faces coming in and out of view for split seconds, their features fuzzy.
That’s when I see her, her dark hair, her hips swaying to the music, the ink peaking out of her sleeve.
Pixie.
I stumble towards her, pushing through the crowd in a sloppy frenzy. The need to be close to her is overwhelming, and maybe if I can just get close enough… she’ll see me and want me back.
My arms curve around her waist the second I get within reach, holding onto her for dear life. She steadies me, leaning into my touch, letting me hold her, even if it’s just for now.
I drop my head to her neck, and the sigh that I can barely hear over the beating music makes my heart soar. The kisses that I press to her pulse make her arch against me,grindon me.
It feels so right.
Until I smell her perfume.
My nose scrunches up.
It’s too sweet.
“Don’t stop,” she moans.
But I do.
“You’re not her.” I take a step back, running a hand down my face and trying to focus.Why can’t I focus?
This isn’t Sasha. Her hair is too long, she’s too short, she’s not wearing what she would wear. This isn’t right. It’s not her, but I thought it was.
I need to leave.
“Where are you going?” The girl calls out as I walk away.
