His gaze sweeps past me without pausing.
Furniture. Wallpaper.
It's always funny realising that I could lay dead here and no one woud give a damn.
I circle back toward the kitchen, tray nearly empty. My feet ache in these cheap flats, and the smile is starting to hurt my cheeks.
The kitchen is chaos. Steam, shouting, the clatter of dishes.
I drop off my empty tray and grab a fresh one loaded with champagne flutes. My fingers are steadier now. The brief break helped.
"Table seven needs refills," someone barks.
I nod and push back through the swinging doors into the ballroom.
I scan the crowd and you can tell that something's going on.
Near the center of the room, a cluster of people stand frozen. Not mingling. Not laughing. Just... staring.
A woman in a gown clutches her throat.
Oh God.
Her face is turning red. Purple at the edges. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.
No sound comes out.
The champagne flutes rattle on my tray as I shove it onto the nearest table. Glass tips. Liquid splashes. I don't care.
I'm already moving.
A man circles behind the woman, his hands hovering uselessly near her shoulders. He looks like he's about to attempt something but his movements are hesitant. Uncertain.
He doesn't know what he's doing.
"I've got it!" The words rip from my throat before I can think. "Make some space!"
People scatter like startled pigeons.
I slide between bodies, elbowing a man in a thousand-dollar suit out of my way. The man steps back but not much.
The woman's eyes are bulging now. Tears streak her mascara.
Focus. You've done this before.
I position myself behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. My right hand forms a fist just above her navel. Left hand covers it.
One. Two. Three.
I thrust upward and inward. Hard.
Nothing.
Again.
The woman's body jerks against mine. She's smaller than me.
Come on. Come ON.
