Chapter 28
Piper
A s we leave, we only make it two steps outside before Lena pulls up short, her head turning like she’s heard something. She grabs my arm. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
It takes a second, but then I catch it too—laughter, familiar voices, loud and a little tipsy, echoing from around the corner. Lena perks up like a bloodhound on a scent.
“I think it’s Josh,” she beams.
I squint. “The one with the man-bun and the aggressive Patagonia vest collection?”
“Yeah. He’s hot in a guy-who-drinks-oat-milk kind of way,” she stage-whispers. “Come on.”
Before I can object, she’s already dragging me toward the noise. And sure enough, there’s Josh, plus two guys I don’t immediately recognize.
“Lena!” Josh calls, grinning. “And… damn, Piper? Is that you? You look different.”
“You must mean feral,” I smirk.
“Respect,” he laughs.
“Well, well, well,” one of the guys with Josh drawls. “I’ll be damned, Piper. I barely recognized you.”
“Ben,” I laugh, giving him a drunken hug. “I didn’t see you there. Is Alice with you?”
He playfully waggles his eyebrows. “Nah, she’s home for Thanksgiving. Doing the whole big family thing.”
“We’re heading to Static after this. Do you want to come?” Josh asks, giving Lena a hopeful look.
She quickly answers for both of us. “Obviously.”
Although I’d probably be better off if I went home and laid in bed while dissecting everything that’s happened, I don’t argue. Right now, I want to live in denial. In this strange, floaty , glittery buzz.
We fall into step with the guys and leave the rest behind.
Entering Static is like walking into a casino in Las Vegas. With no clock, no windows, no reference point to the outside world, time disintegrates. In other words, it’s the perfect place to get lost.
Smirking, I let myself feel the pounding bass as my eyes follow the laser lights slicing through the darkness in violent flashes of pink and blue, strobing across mirrored panels and glossy black walls.
Beneath my feet, the floor vibrates with every beat, like the whole building is breathing. Somewhere overhead, industrial fans whir, stirring the heat into something dizzying and alive.
“Holy shit,” Lena breathes beside me.
The bar glows like a spaceship, tendrils of LED light curling along its edges. The ceiling’s so high I can’t see where it ends, lost in scaffolding and projection screens showing silent, looping video art.
A girl with silver glitter smeared across her cheeks hands us drink menus we’ll never read. Lena grabs us a table near the edge of the dance floor—a mismatched set of velvet chairs that looks stolen from a hotel lobby, and a glass table cracked right down the center.
I can’t stop staring at everything and everyone. There are people in mesh, in latex, in sequins. A guy walks by shirtless with angel wings. Another wears nothing but jeans and body paint. No one blinks.
Lena grabs my hand, her grin sharp. “Embrace the chaos, bitch.”
And maybe that’s what I want—what I need. Something wild, untethered. Something that lets me forget what happened this morning, if only for a little while.
While the guys order beers—lager, as Josh obnoxiously insists on calling it—Lena and I opt for cocktails. Fruity, ridiculous, definitely overpriced cocktails.
My eyes widen when they arrive. They’re not just over-the-top—they’re a whole damn spectacle. Served in oversized hurricane glasses that look like they were stolen from a mermaid-themed resort, the drinks are violently pink, almost glowing under the club’s neon lights.
A carved pineapple wedge is teetering on the rim, three maraschino cherries impaled on a flaming sugar stick, and a spiral of citrus peel wrapped around a candy-striped straw like it’s auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.
The top crackles from the firestick as the flame dances, hissing softly before fading into a trail of smoke that smells like toasted syrup.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper, awe-struck.
Lena clinks her glass against mine with a devilish grin. “An experience, babe.” Then she blows me a kiss. “And you’re still paying.”
The drink is way too sweet, way too easy to drink, and absolutely strong enough to make me forget my name.
Josh watches us take our first sips with a look somewhere between horror and admiration. “You two are gonna die.”
“Then let us die fabulous,” Lena laughs, already halfway through hers .
The drinks go down like a treat, and I quickly lose track of how many we’ve had, especially when we start double-fisting those bad boys. Ben takes a picture of both me and Lena holding one in each hand, and from there, the selfie game only gets better.
We have way too much fun posing together. Not just me and Lena, all of us in various poses. At some point, we even try stacking all of us on one chair, which ends in laughter, a broken chair, and spilled drinks.
“I can’t even,” I laugh. My cheeks hurt as I do my best to stand back up.
Josh offers me a hand, but Lena beats him to it, grabbing my arm and pulling me upright like a drunk little warrior.
“We need to dance,” she declares. “Or we’ll turn into furniture.”
The music pulses like a heartbeat on steroids—neon strobing across bodies that don’t move so much as vibrate. Static’s dance floor doesn’t have corners, just pockets of light and shadow where people writhe in time with whatever track the DJ’s throwing at us next.
Our group has grown. Somewhere between rounds, a pack of girls joined us, glittery and shrieking and instantly obsessed with Lena’s dress. Then one of Josh’s rugby bros turned up with two new guys, one of whom is already shirtless and waving glow sticks.
Someone hands me a drink, and despite knowing better, I tip it back anyway, like I’m chasing something I can’t name.
Lena’s dancing with Josh again, all hands and heat and laughter, while one of the new girls drags me into a TikTok she’s filming on the dance floor. I don’t even try to escape. I just pose like I was born to do it, tongue out, middle fingers up.
“Piper!” someone shouts behind me.
I turn to find Ben grinning like he just found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “Okay, real talk? I didn’t peg you for this.”
I arch a brow. “For what?”
He gestures at me with a dramatic sweep of his drink. “For being like this. You’re always so put-together at Blackwood. Like you’d call the manager if your cappuccino had the wrong milk.”
“I’m a woman of many layers,” I shout back, finishing what’s left in my glass. “And FYI, I absolutely would call the manager on your ass.”
“I bet you would, darling,” he laughs, moving closer. “And you can definitely touch my ass.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I wink and turn around.
The group explodes into another round of cheers when someone starts a dance circle. And when one girl grabs me and pulls me into the middle, I give them a ridiculous spin and shake my ass.
A few of them start chanting my name, and someone whistles. I’m fully aware that I’ll cringe about this tomorrow, but right now? I feel electric. Limitless. Free.
When Ben hands me another drink, I scrunch up my nose after just one sip. It tastes off. Or maybe I’ve just had enough. But since I’m not making good decisions right now, I still finish it.
Across the room, Lena and Josh are basically dry-humping against a neon pillar, lost in their own sweaty make-out haze. And me, I get lost in people watching. Not just them, but everyone moving around me.
Ben’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck, and I’m not sure I like it.
But when he offers me a fresh drink, I take it with a smile.
The first sip tastes wrong, worse than the last drink; bitter, chemical, not the playful fruit-bomb I expected.
I use the straw to swirl the liquid around in case it wasn’t properly mixed.
“So, how are you liking it at Blackwood?” I ask, feeling like I ought to say something.
“It’s alright,” he says. “Better when you’re around.”
“Oh my God,” I laugh, immediately booing. “Did you practice that one in the mirror?”
“Maybe,” he says with a grin. “Want to see what else I’ve practiced?”
I nearly choke on my drink and laugh so hard I nearly drop it.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispers that this is too much. But that voice is buried beneath the bass, glitter, and the way my body won’t stop moving.
I know that stopping would be the responsible thing to do. But stopping means thinking, and thinking means dealing, and I’m so not ready for that. I like not thinking and just feeling. I’m drunk on the chaos and cocktails—and loving every goddamn second of it.
Ben stays by my side, making it hard to talk to anyone else. Every time I try, he interjects himself. Loud, laughing, always just a little too close. He dominates the conversation until people start drifting away, one by one, like it’s not worth fighting to be heard.
Suddenly, everything feels too overwhelming. The lights and even the sounds. I blink slowly, feeling as though the world is buffering in real time. My arms are heavy, and my smile feels like it’s been glued to my face. It’s uncomfortably wide, like I can’t control it.
I keep sipping the drink he gave me without thinking about it. I don’t even know if it’s the same one. It just… appeared in my hand again.
“You okay?” he asks, and his voice sounds like it’s underwater.
I nod, even though I’m not sure. I feel floaty. Untethered. As though I’m dreaming someone else’s dream and forgot the script. When I try to move away, intending to find Lena or maybe the bathroom, he catches my wrist and guides me toward the farthest wall.
“You’re swaying,” he says with a crooked smile. “Come with me for a sec.”
I don’t remember agreeing, but I’m following him, anyway. My body’s lagging behind my brain, every step weirdly delayed. There’s a buzzing in my ears that won’t go away.
“Ben,” I murmur, dragging his name out like I’m trying it on for the first time. “I think I need water.”
“You’re fine,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while pushing me against the wall. His hand lingers. “You just danced too hard. You’re cute when you party.” He smells like cologne and beer, which is not a nice combo right now.
My head tilts, not quite on purpose. This doesn’t feel right— I don’t feel right. The thought disappears, slipping under the surface like it never existed at all.
He keeps talking, something about DJs and EDM festivals and how he once snuck backstage at Coachella. But his voice is syrupy now. Slow and too sweet, and I can’t tell if it’s charming or cloying.
Every time I blink, the world seems to skip a frame.
Ben shifts closer, his thigh pressing between mine. “You’re a lot of fun when you let go.”
Am I?
When he leans in and kisses me, I don’t pull away, but I don’t kiss him back, either. I just stand there as his kiss becomes more insistent, and his hand slides to my bare thigh, fingers inching beneath the hem of my skirt.
I need to put a stop to this. I try to stand straighter, to pull away, but it’s like my limbs forgot how to respond. My pulse kicks up, not in excitement but in… something else. Panic? Nausea? I can’t tell.
A part of my brain registers a change in the atmosphere. Harsh and loud voices blend with the music, and it sounds like people are scurrying away. I strain my ears, but it’s so hard to focus when Ben’s body presses closer.
He’s grinding against me, rolling his hips like we’re in the middle of the floor instead of half-hidden by shadows. My head tips back against the wall, dizzy from the motion. My fingers twitch at my sides. I try to say something, but my tongue’s too thick in my mouth.
“Relax,” Ben murmurs, dragging his lips along my jaw. “You’re so tense.”
I don’t know what scares me more; how wrong this feels, or that my body isn’t obeying me when I try to escape his lips on my throat. His hand keeps moving—fingertips skating higher, brushing the edge of my thong.
“Come on, babe,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Just let me—”
Something crashes nearby, and for the briefest moment, all sounds come to a stop.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” The familiar voice cuts through the noise like a blade; low, lethal, and full of promise. “No one touches my fucking toy.”
And then… Ben’s gone.
One second, his weight is pressing into me, and the next, I feel myself falling. I try to move my arms to catch myself, but nothing happen s. I close my eyes, preparing myself for an impact that never comes.
Strong arms catch me, one bracing my back, the other curving beneath my knees, lifting me like I weigh nothing at all. My head lolls against a shoulder that smells faintly of citrus and smoke.
Then everything fades and the world turns black.