Chapter 5
AERI
Fantastic.
Just absolutely fucking fantastic.
Because nothing really tops a girls’ night meant to erase your cheating, trash-fire ex like him showing up and deciding he still gets opinions on my body, my choices, and my existence, while my nervous system is still buzzing from almost getting stabbed by a masked psycho who almost kissed me instead.
Close enough that I felt his breath, and my body forgot a normal person would be scared and instead it did something really fucking inconvenient about it.
I shove through the crowd hard enough to earn a few annoyed looks I don’t bother acknowledging. My shoulders are tight, jaw locked, skin buzzing like my nerves haven’t caught up with the fact that I’m technically safe and no longer pinned against brick with a blade at my throat.
Mark’s voice keeps echoing anyway—not the specifics, just the entitlement.
The absolute fucking nerve of him showing up tonight and acting offended that I was drawing male attention, like he didn’t spend our “committed relationship” sticking his dick in anything that smiled back at him.
Like loyalty was something he expected from me while he treated monogamy like a joke he never bothered to learn the punchline to.
He really stood there, running his mouth after all that, looking at me like I was the problem for being wanted.
The audacity is almost impressive. I say almost, because let's be honest, nothing about Mark is “impressive.”
I cut between two guys dancing like they’re having their own personal fucking dance off. One of them, a tall guy with dark hair, LED glasses and a neon fishnet muscle shirt, opens his mouth to complain, clocks my expression, and immediately decides against it.
Smart choice dude because tonight, I am not the fucking one.
My hands are shaking, but not in a fragile way. It’s the kind of aftershock you get when your body dumped everything it had into survival mode and hasn’t figured out what to do now that you’re upright, breathing, and still standing.
I tell myself it was just adrenaline.
Just a rush. A chemical spike from whatever cocktail is currently marinating my brain.
A stress response that went sideways because, surprise, almost getting murdered by a masked psycho—Kross, I think the other one said his name was—isn’t exactly a normal weekend experience.
Apparently when you mix danger, drugs, and a guy in a mask, with abs that look like they were carved by the gods themselves, and who looks at you like he’s deciding whether to kill you or kiss you, your body gets, well, confused?
There are probably studies on that. Somewhere.
I’m fine.
Except my brain keeps circling back to it like it’s poking a bruise just to see if it still hurts.
The cold brick at my back and his blade along my flesh.
The pause that felt intentional before his breath across my lips.
I shove that thought down hard because if I let it fester, I’m going to goddamn spiral, and spiraling is not the vibe tonight.
I end up back with my friends before I even remember deciding to.
Which is probably the pills doing their thing—time slipping sideways, thoughts skipping tracks, my body moving before my brain finishes arguing with it.
The rave feels thicker now. Louder. Like the music is inside my skull instead of just hitting my ears.
Lights smear when I turn my head too fast, colors bleeding into each other like everything’s just a little too bright, a little too much.
I blink hard and push through another group of people, finally spotting Luna and Harper near the edge of the dance floor.
Both of them look at me at the same time and immediately clock the lack of drinks in my hands.
Shit.
Harper squints first. “Bitch. Where are the shots?”
Luna gasps dramatically. “You ditched us for ten minutes and came back empty-handed? Who are you and what have you done with Aeri?”
“I got distracted,” I say, which feels like the safest possible answer.
Harper’s eyes flick over me, sharp despite the sweat and glitter. “Oh yeah? Distracted by what?”
“Or who.”
“She does look flustered,” Harper corrects, grinning. “Guilty even. Like…she spent the whole time making out with some rave weirdo in the bathroom instead of getting us the drinks she promised.”
I snort. “I wanted him to see me tonight. To know how bad he fucked up by losing me. I just didn’t want to actually have to acknowledge his existence.”
It’s not Mark that has me all wound up though.
It's them. I can feel it humming under my skin, that restless buzz that makes everything feel like a dare. The pills didn’t mellow me out, they sharpened me.
Edges tight. Everything feels more intense.
My emotions are loud but slippery, like I can’t quite hold onto any one thing long enough to deal with it properly.
Harper leans closer, lowering her voice. “Mark? You saw him? Did he say something to you? I will kick his ass.”
That name makes my jaw tighten immediately because right now, I don’t want to think about him. All I want to think about is the mask. The cool blade, and how fucking wet he made me from barely touching me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, flicking my wrist like I’m swatting a fly. “Mark can choke. Preferably on his own bullshit.”
Luna laughs immediately. “As he should.”
Harper grins. “Men really hate it when you stop giving a fuck.”
“Especially when they didn’t deserve it in the first place,” I add.
Luna claps once, decisive. “Okay. Enough oxygen wasted on trash. You didn’t come out tonight to think about him. You came out to forget him.”
“Correct,” Harper says. “Which means dancing first, drinks second.”
She points at the bar. “I’ll grab us something strong since you,” her eyes fall on me as she smirks, “can’t be trusted to not disappear again.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” I tell her. “I swear. This place is wild.”
Luna laughs, and Harper disappears toward the bar, already weaving through bodies like she’s on a one woman mission. Luna grabs my hand and tugs me toward the floor without waiting for permission.
“Come on then, let’s get you some male attention that’s actually wanted,” Luna says, tugging me through the crush of grinding bodies.
I snort, because if she only knew. I’ve been collecting attention all night, the kind that sinks under my skin and stays there, and my brain immediately hands me his glowing heart eyes like a secret I’m not supposed to be smiling about.
The way his mouth curved like he was entertained instead of pissed. Strong jaw, sharp chin, lips that hovered way too close to mine for someone holding a blade. The guy who watched me like he already knew I’d run and liked that I did.
Yeah. That attention.
But, I let her drag me along anyway. Through the crowd to the dance floor where the base vibrates through my body.
Standing still feels like a terrible idea anyway.
The second I stop moving, my thoughts start drifting into places they shouldn’t—brick walls, knives, the way danger didn’t scare me nearly as much as it should’ve.
Hard no. We are absolutely not unpacking that right now.
We shove deeper into the crowd, the bass hitting my chest so hard it actually knocks the breath out of me for a second. Lights flash. Bodies are everywhere. It’s loud and sweaty and chaotic in that way that makes bad decisions feel less like mistakes and more like suggestions.
Luna disappears into the music immediately, arms up, hips moving like she was born on this dance floor. Of course she was. I snort and follow, letting myself get dragged into it.
I roll my shoulders, stretch my neck, and let the beat do the work for me.
My top shifts when I move, the little red drippy pieces bouncing and swinging every time I step or twist. I can feel the strings around my waist tug when I roll my hips, beads brushing my thighs, catching the light whenever I turn.
It’s distracting, but then again, right now, everything is fucking distracting.
My body loosens up fast, like it’s running on a delay. Or maybe I am. Hard to tell. Movements get slower, sloppier, then suddenly sharp again when the beat drops. I sway, then snap my hips, then laugh because I almost lose my balance and absolutely do not care.
Someone bumps into me and the contact sends this stupid little jolt up my spine, way bigger than it should be. I laugh again, shaking my head like, wow, okay, calm down, body.
God. I am so fucked up.
As bass crashes through my body, all the tension starts to melt away.
Everything starts to smooth out, like someone took an eraser to the sharp edges of the night.
Thoughts don’t really finish anymore, they just kind of…
drift. Consequences feel fake. Like something future me can deal with, and honestly, she’ll probably be way stronger than I am anyway.
I dance harder, messier, letting the music jerk me around. Shoulders rolling, hips grinding without a plan. Sweat slicks my skin, my hair sticks to my neck, and I don’t bother fixing it. My body wants something. Attention. Trouble. Validation. Shit, maybe all of it. I’ll decide later. Or not.
Right now, I just laugh, and let whatever else the night has planned, happen to me.
That’s when the awareness creeps in.
It starts as that prickle between my shoulder blades, the kind that sneaks up on me when I’m already too fucked up to care. I’ve been dancing with Luna for a while now, long enough that time feels bendy and fake, long enough that the music has melted my brain into something pleasantly useless.
Then something shifts.
Not in a loud or dramatic way. Just that quiet little click in my head that says I’m not just another sweaty body in the crowd anymore. I’m being watched. Properly. Like someone locked onto me and decided, yeah, that one.