Amara links her hand with mine and propels me down the packed hallway, but before making it even two paces, a soft touch lands on my lower back. My dress seems to melt beneath the flame of Lev’s gentle reassurance—his hand briefly pressing into me before the crowd separates us, and he becomes my silent, untouchable bodyguard once more.
Amara pulls me into the kitchen and through an insane amount of people that has me missing my dorm. In so many ways, this reminds me of my old school, of the façade I put on. The untouchable Serafina Mancini who rarely took a night off from being social.
Why was this a good idea? The commotion is impossible to make sense of.
People shout at one another. Drinks are being handed out. Music thumps so loud, my insides vibrate. The back doors reveal more people spilling into the backyard, and the distinct clouds of smoke wafting in suggest a few different kinds.
I try to take it all in, because this islife. Vibrancy. This is what I should be enjoying. The connections forged with studentswho’ll be around for the next few years and perhaps into the future.
Amara points to a group of girls nearby before releasing me and slipping away. People step between us until she disappears from view. I shove between them, her name on my tongue, when a large hand encompasses my elbow and yanks me backwards instead. Lev, presumably—until a tangier scent hits my nostrils, burning through the acrid smoke drifting from the outdoors.
I turn, clashing with the dark, angry eyes of Alessio.
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“I want to talk.” He holds his hands up, palms out, as though to indicate he’s safe. Exceptsafeisn’t trying to assault your girlfriend. “To clear the air on a few things.”
“Not happening.” I glance towards where Amara disappeared, jaw grinding that she dragged me here and then abandoned me. She knows the old version of me wasn’t real, that I don’t really enjoy parties like she does.
Then, I sweep the room for Lev, realizing he’d get Alessio to leave me alone, but I don’t spot him either. Even lifting onto my toes is useless.
Alessio moves into me, his chest rumbling with his low words. “Please, Sera. I miss you. The other day was bad, and I regret it. My family has me under so much stress, you have no idea.”
His eyes soften, his blink slow. While I understand familial stress making a person act out of character, what he did is no exception. There is no rationalizing his choices.
“I don’t care. You fucked up. We’re over.”
He reaches over to swipe two red cups freshly poured from the counter and hands me one. “Look, five minutes. That’s all I need, and if you still want nothing to do with me, I’ll respect that.”
I stare at him and then into the cup of pink liquid. Five minutes isn’t much. Five minutes to end the phone calls seems worth it.
I lift to my toes to once again seek out Amara, but she’s disappeared. Frustration, anger, and even a bit of defeat has me sighing before gesturing for Alessio to lead the way. I’ll deal with him, and then I’ll search for her.
As we push through the crowd, I scan for Lev. Maybe he’s blending in, leaving me alone, as he’s supposed to. Around but not hovering. Still… A new instinct has me wanting to find him, to signal where I’m going, and more importantly, with whom.
In a moment of space, I sip the drink. It tastes like strawberries tainted with too much vodka.
Alessio leads me up the wide staircase, weaving between people. At the top, he turns for the attached hallway, somehow knowing where to go. He stops by the third door and pushes it open, causing the couple in there to jump.
“Get the fuck out.” The authority of his demand actually works, and the two scramble for their clothes before rushing out of the room, slamming the door shut. It’s quieter than the rest of the house, the door dulling the noise.
Alessio wanders to the other side of the room, hovering by the window, while I remain by the door, my grip tight around the red cup before taking another drink.
“Come sit.”
For some reason, I listen to him, slowly crossing the room until shuffling onto the bed covered in a thick, navy-blue comforter. I wonder whose room this is.
Another sip as my gaze re-centres on my ex, requiring alcohol more than ever to get through these five minutes. He lowers his cup on the windowsill and crosses his arms, regarding me silently.
“So,” I prompt between sips. “Your five minutes is ticking away. Start talking.”
“My family”—he rubs a hand over his hair—“puts a lot of pressure on me. You were my break from it all. Our date was meant to get me away; I only wanted to relax. Tofeelsomething other than anger.”
The cup is already half empty. Did I really drink that much? As I lower it, my vision wobbles until even resting the cup on my knee requires real effort, like my limbs are too heavy. With a squeeze of my eyes, I refocus on Alessio, but the brief closure makes me realize how the liquor is already hitting me…for some reason.
I’m not the greatest drinker, but nothing this immediate typically. My breaths start coming faster, my mind running through all the possibilities—but unable to focus on any.
“I get it,” I finally reply. “But that didn’t give you the right to do what you did.”
