Chapter Twelve
Millie
M usic moves through me, a throbbing booming vibration, almost violent in how it seems to echo within my bones. The dancefloor is packed, and I crash into people uncontrollably; a night of shots and cocktails has left me struggling to focus on something as simple as dancing. My body feels wrong, my limbs don't belong to me, and my brain is taking too long to process the world around me. Everything is both too slow and too fast.
The heat is unbearable; sweat drips down my spine. My hair sticks to the skin on my neck and forehead. The stuffy air is hard to breathe. The scolding lights beating down on me aggressively. My throat is dry, and I feel sick.
I try to remember how I got here. I faintly remember the unbearable high of Jackson's kiss, that giddy feeling of elation in my belly, the rightness of it, only for him to disappear as if my lips had burnt him. Blake had poured me another cocktail, and it had slipped down my throat as easily as water. I'd stumbled back to the booth, feeling a strange mix of happiness and disappointment, a night's worth of drinks finally coasting through my bloodstream. The kiss was intoxicating, but he was gone almost as soon as I'd opened my eyes. I wasn't sure whether to explore the club and seek him out again or to accept that I was in way over my head when it came to Jackson Mort.
Chloe had dragged me to the dancefloor as soon as I'd slipped back into the booth, following a group of boys she and Samira had been chatting to. Marnie was licking her wounds over her failure with Jackson, sitting on the lap of a bearded man in a fashionably too-tight shirt, devouring each other in slobbering kisses that made me feel queasy.
They'd disappeared a while ago, as did the boys, with their hands grabbing at my hips as they pushed their bodies unbearably close to mine. I make my way through the thick crowd of people, elbows digging sharply into me, my feet tripping over shoes and dropped pint glasses. The dirty looks and mouthed sounds are like imitations of speech—I can't make out the words. And by the time my brain has processed they've happened, I'm already a few steps away.
Now I'm at the edge of the dancefloor, finally away from the sweaty body of anyone else. I take a breath, hoping to gulp clean air, but only get the stale smog of spilt beer and cheap perfume. I'm aware faintly that I need to find Chloe, that I haven't seen her in so long, and that's bad, though the exact reason is absent from my mind for the moment. All I know is that my insides are lurching, liquid swaying precariously in my stomach.
I stumble through the club, heading quickly towards the toilets. Now and then, my ankle twists painfully as I forget about my high heels. I can't see Chloe anywhere on the floor. And I see no sign of Marnie or Samira. Worship was getting quieter; the night nearly over, and I was alone.
Bad.
The toilets were busy but not brimming with people. I lurch towards an open stall, ignoring the expensive-looking ivory decorations and gold taps that seem mocking against the mess of the space. Lipstick was smeared into mirrors, dirty tissues scattered all over, and broken make-up packaging was left on puddled sinks. The girls all seem to turn and look at me, and once I glimpse myself in the mirror, it's easy to see why.
I probably looked a state a few hours ago; now, I barely look human. My damp hair sticks out at all angles, and my make-up is smudged across my face in every place but where it was originally applied. My dress hangs awkwardly off my shoulder, revealing one bra strap and hitched up high on my thighs. None of the gawping girls are Chloe or her friends.
Once in the stall, I sink to the ground, just in time for the night's colourful drinks to spill from my lips, splashing into the toilet. I hear chuckles from outside as I continue to empty my stomach until there's nothing left. My throat burns, and cold sweat dapples my forehead.
When I sit up, ignoring the fact that I'm sitting on a dirty bathroom floor, I feel better but no clearer. Each silver strand seems to be beyond my grasp as I try to gather the spiderweb of thoughts. I knew one thing—I was very drunk in a club that was closing soon and had no idea where the people I'd come with were. This was bad.
“Gareth is gonna drive us home; he's meeting us out front in five minutes.” Marnie's loud voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts.
“That's fine, but I need to find Millie.” Chloe sounds fed up and emotional. Her voice is lacking its normal exuberance. Marnie groans in annoyance.
“Well, text her then. She's either with us when he gets here, or she's on her own.”
Even in my haze, I realise what's happening. I drag myself up, but my legs feel weak, and I end up slipping back down again.
“I can't just leave her here …”
“I said, text her. If she doesn't come, it's her problem. What else can you do? Or you can stay if you want. Doesn't make any difference to me. Sam, you coming?”
“Yup,” Samira gives an uninterested reply.
“OK, OK, I've sent her a text. We need to wait for her, OK?”
“Whatever. Gareth says he's nearly here. Let's go.”
I hear their high heels click as they leave the bathroom. My phone vibrates, and I glance at Chloe's message. I also see the low battery symbol flashing unhappily. I ignore it and try to stand again.
“Wait …” My voice is croaky and weak. I hear the door swing shut after the three of them leave. It's a struggle between the weakness of my legs and the fog that's making my every action slow and clumsy, but I make my way to the entrance.
When I leave the toilets, the music has stopped; the lights are on and anyone left is making their way to the main entrance. People bustle their way through the arched hallway. Up ahead, I can see Marnie's brown hair bouncing above the crowd. I try to push my way to them, but the crowd doesn't part. In fact, they're as desperate to leave as I am.
When I reach the outside world, the cold air hits me with a start. My bare legs feel instantly like ice. The freezing air burns in my lungs.
I scan the street and it takes me a few seconds of searching to see Chloe, Marnie, and Samira. Marnie is bent over, talking to the driver of a sleek red car, her dress riding precariously up her legs. I can see by the movement of her head that she's flirting. Samira hops into the back seat, slowly followed by Chloe. I see her look back at the club, biting her lip and looking concerned. She's looking for me. It's only been a couple of minutes since Chloe sent her text, but it doesn't make any difference. They have no intention of waiting for me.
I try walking forward, but the crowd is lingering out front, texting friends or arranging Ubers, smoking a long-awaited cigarette. I push my way through, but I'm slow and clumsy.
Marnie slips into the front passenger seat. I see her turn around, saying something harshly to Chloe. Both doors slam shut, and just as I break through the crowd to the street, the car accelerates and speeds off into the distance. I stand on the pavement, watching it go. Tears burn in my eyes, and a cold lump of ice hits the base of my stomach.
They'd left me.
Not caring about my make-up, I walk back to Worship, finding a bare wall next to the crowd of smokers. I no longer care how I look. I let myself sink down the wall until I meet the ground. The ice-cold concrete makes me jump as it travels through my dress and reaches my thighs. I'm aware I'm crying, getting looks as people walk past me, but I'm past the point of caring. I'm not sure if my brain can register such an emotion right now.
I take out my phone and try to search the apps for Uber. My fingers stumble on the buttons, and then my phone flashes another warning at me.
Low battery
I groan and quickly try to order the Uber, but the details are all wrong. It's my old house, my real home. Not Roisin's. I struggle, trying to key in the new address, when my phone flashes one more time. The screen turns black. Fear grips me. I had no cash; I’d been paying for everything on my phone all night. I groan, the reality hitting me, still a hazy, confused thought against the drunken haze.
I was alone, with no money, a dead phone and no way of getting home.
Get up, I yell to myself. I had only one option left, and the longer I stayed here, the harder it would be to drag myself up, knowing I faced hours and hours of walking the darkened streets to get my ass home. My throat tightens, and tears prickle in the corner of my eyes. I don't want to cry; I wouldn't want to give Marnie or Chloe the satisfaction, and besides, I'm not crying because of them. I hate myself for the weakness, but I can't help it. All alone, in the early hours of this cold Sunday morning, I wish for Mum. I rest my eyes, just for a second, heavy with exhaustion, but the seconds turn into minutes, and before I know it, the darkness swallows me up.