This is it.Themoment.
My throat burns. My eyes sting.
Fuck.
I can’t do it.
I widen my eyes dramatically and slap a hand over my mouth—the universal sign for I’m about to puke. Colby jerks back like I’ve sprouted fangs. I fake-stumble toward the hallway with the bathrooms, weaving like a woman seconds from disaster.
The hallway is dim, lit by flickering red bulbs that make the air look thick, liquid. The distance to the dance floor making the bass drop to a dull thud against my skull.
For once the universe smiles on me, and there isn’t a line as I shove the door open and duck into a stall. Bracing both palms on the cool tile, my head drops forward.
Pathetic.
“You said you loved me.”
“No one will ever want you now.”
“Your own father didn’t want you.”
My eyes slam shut, but it doesn’t mute the memories.
When I wash my hands, I refuse to look in the mirror. I can’t stand the idea of seeing myself like this.
What am I even doing here?
This isn’t me.
When I step out, I see Colby waiting at the end of the hallway. Thankfully, his gaze is on the dance floor, and he hasn’t noticed me yet. Of course, he had to be a nice guy, checking on me. I’m doing him a favor by bailing. He doesn’t need the hot mess I’ve become, ruining his night.
A fresh hit of self-loathing burns hot under my skin. Turning in the opposite direction, I slip through the door illuminated dully under the red EXIT sign.
Cold winter air slaps my face, the shock of it cutting straight through the vodka fog. The alley’s dimmer than I expect. Only one weak bulb overhead and the glow of streetlights at the far end illuminate the steep, grated metal stairs. Just as I get to the pavement, one heel catches in a hole in the step. The cheap heel bends, and I scowl at the visible crack where the heel has partially separated from the insole.
Fabulous.
I hike my skirt, planning to pull my phone from a strap wrapped tightly around my thigh. The first time I saw the tactical strap, intended to hold knives and various other necessities, all I thought was, “Finally! A place to put my phone when I don’t have pockets.”
It’s proven remarkably convenient.
Before I can loosen the clasp, voices echo into the alley. I squint at the two men at the far end, closer to the road.
It’s obvious they’re having an argument—well,oneof them is arguing, his hands gesticulate frantically in the air as he follows the older man deeper into the alley.
Closer to me.
The hair on my arms lifts, instinct warning me I’m not safe. Glancing around, I realize I’m boxed in on three sides by the surrounding buildings. The two men are standing between me and the only exit.
In the seconds I’ve weighed my options, the confrontation thirty feet from me escalates… violently.
I drop to a crouch behind the stairs, hoping they will obscure me in the low light. A foreign language spills from the first man, fast and pleading—Eastern European, maybe?
I don’t need to understand the words.
Terror sounds the same in all languages.
He’s clearly pleading, but the older man has no expression on his face. They’ve stopped just under the bulb, and I’m able to make out the older man’s blank stare, more frightening than if he were shouting as well.
