Chapter 22
TWENTY TWO
THE TIRES SCREAM in protest as I yank the steering wheel. The car swerves dangerously close to the curb before I correct, overcompensating and fishtailing slightly. The city lights blur into a continuous, meaningless stream.
My vision tunnels.
The radio is off; silence is preferable.
I don’t want to feel.
Just do.
My knuckles are white on the wheel, my only anchor in a world spinning out of control. I press the accelerator harder, the speedometer needle climbing. A horn blares behind me. A fleeting annoyance I ignore. I weave between lanes, heedless of other cars.
A red light flashes ahead.
I slam on the brakes, stopping just inches from the crosswalk. The sudden lurch throws me forward against the seatbelt. My chest heaves, but the tears won’t come.
I’m past crying.
I’m in a strange, detached state. Somewhere between numb and reckless.
The light turns green for the cross-traffic. My mind doesn’t process that they now have the right of way. I just see green and floor it, the engine roaring. From my left, a car slams on its brakes, tires screeching. Its horn blasts a sustained, furious warning. It stops inches from my door.
The near impact, a collision averted by sheer luck, barely registers. My foot remains pressed to the floor.
The familiar neon glow of Hydra Nightclub appears in the distance, a beacon in the darkness.
I don’t think, don’t plan.
Just go.
I park haphazardly, ignoring the lines, and practically fall out of the car. The thumping bass of the music vibrates through the pavement, a physical pulse drawing me forward. I stumble, catching myself on the car door, then push toward the entrance.
Toward oblivion.
The bouncer, a large man with a shaved head and a stern expression, stands at the door, checking IDs. He gives me a quick up-and-down look, his eyes lingering on my ankle boots. His gaze travels to my dress, then to my face.
The silence stretches with his unspoken appraisal.
He pauses, hand halfway to the velvet rope, before shrugging and stepping aside.
I step into Hydra. The noise hits me like a deafening wall of sound.
The air is thick with sweat, perfume, and spilled alcohol.
The bass reverberates through my chest, a relentless pulse syncing with the frantic hammering of my heart.
Flashing lights strobe across the crowded dance floor, momentarily blinding me.
Everyone seems to be moving, dancing, laughing… a swirling vortex of energy a world away. A girl in a sequined miniskirt and sky-high heels brushes past me, laughter echoing above the music. Another woman, in a barely-there top and tight leather pants, gives me a dismissive glance.
I become acutely aware of myself:
The olive-green sweater dress.
The ankle boots.
The practicality of it all.
It’s the outfit I wore to meet James for dinner. The outfit of a woman with a plan, a future. Now, it feels like a costume from a life that no longer exists.
I tug self-consciously at the hem of the short dress, feeling a flush creep up my neck.
Pushing toward the bar, the press of bodies against me is both unsettling and strangely comforting. A reminder that I’m still here. Still real. Even if everything else feels like a bad dream.
I need a drink.
I need several.
The bartender, a harried guy with multiple piercings, slams a vodka soda in front of me. He barely makes eye contact. I take a long swallow, the liquid a refreshing cold against the blazing heat in my heart.
The music swells. The lights brighten.
Another drink.
Tequila this time.
I grimace.
It burns a path down my throat.
The dance floor beckons.
I hesitate, then plunge in. Bouncing bodies close in around me. I start to move, awkwardly at first, then with growing abandon.
A flash of a smile from a stranger.
I look away.
Another drink.
I don’t even remember ordering it.
The music is inside me now, a driving rhythm dictating my movements. I close my eyes, letting the beat take over. My arms lift above my head, body swaying. I undo the tight bun at the nape of my neck, freeing my hair, letting it whip around my face.
A hand brushes my waist.
I shove it away.
Another drink.
I drain the glass almost as soon as it’s placed in front of me.
I slam it down on the bar. The sound is swallowed by the club’s roar.
I’m dancing again, but it’s different now.
Desperate. Wild.
I’m not dancing to the music; I’m dancing against it. Fighting the pain, the anger, the loss.
The lights blur.
The faces around me become indistinct.
Even in this sea of bodies, I feel utterly alone.
Guilt lances through the haze.
Matthew’s concerned eyes flash in my mind. I stumble away from the dance floor, pushing through the throng of people toward the hallway to the restrooms. The music is still loud but muffled, the bass a dull throb. My fingers find my phone. My thumb presses the call button on its own.
The phone rings once, twice…
Matthew picks up, his voice tight. “Amy, you alright?”
“Mattt-thew,” I slur, my tongue thick and clumsy.
“I-I owe you ’pology… a ’pology… gotta ’pologize for being such a bitch.
” I hiccup. It sounds both embarrassing and strangely liberating.
“You were right. You tried to help, really did, an’ I just..
. ran. Such a child.” I roll my eyes as if he can see them.
There’s a long silence. “Amy, listen. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.” I hear a door slam on his end.
“No!” I say a little too loudly. A couple walking past gives me a strange look. “I don’t n-need rescue, ’m fine. Just need to… sorry, ’n thanks. For trying. You’re a good person. Not like… like…” A sob catches in my throat, but I swallow it down.
I won’t cry.
Not again.
Not over him.
“Please tell me where you are,” he commands, his tone firm but laced with worry.
I lean sideways, pressing my temple against the cool tiles. I close my eyes. “Doesn’t matter, no more. James is a… he’s a… he comes here all the time, y’ know, with boy… boisterous women,” I blurt, the words tumbling out in a clumsy torrent. “My turn… my time for fun. He says—”
“Amy, listen to me—”
“Says it’s the only way. Why wait? I’m here… already in Hydra. I cheat, I cheat.” I laugh, a harsh, broken sound.
Through the phone, I hear the distant roar of an engine. “Please, don’t. I need you to stay exactly where you are. Promise me, Amy. Say it.” His voice is urgent now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and despair. “Amy—”
I swipe the red button.
I blink slowly at my phone, the screen already dark.
Stay exactly where you are.
His words echo in my head, but they have no power. I shove the phone back in my purse and turn toward the bar. The music is deafening.
One more drink.
The bartender looks at me expectantly. It takes a moment to register his intent. “Anything strong,” I yell over the music.
He pours me a shot of whiskey. I down it in one gulp before weaving back to the dance floor.
The bright lights are like a spotlight, judging me. The music takes hold, dictating my movements, my thoughts. A wave pulling me under. Deeper into the darkness.
I close my eyes, letting it take over, trying to drown out everything else.
I open them. A man steps in front of me, a calculating smile on his face. He’s tall, with dark hair and eyes that take in everything. I try to step back, but the crowd makes it difficult. He steps forward, closing the distance.
“Wanna dance?” he asks, smooth and confident.
I hesitate. Unease breaks through my haze. But just as fast, a surge of recklessness takes over. I offer him a shaky smile, my gaze not quite meeting his.
“Sure,” I slur, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. “You’ll do…” I trail off, my train of thought lost.
He leans in, his hot breath fanning my ear as he laughs.
He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He places his hands on my waist, pulling me closer.
The music pounds.
The lights flash.
I close my eyes again, letting myself sway.
He smells of expensive cologne and cigarettes.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs my ear, the hot burst of his breath hitting my skin.
He tugs my hand, pulling me away from the dance floor, toward the wall near the end of the bar. I stumble after him, my legs unsteady. I bump into a high table, sending drinks sloshing.
A curse. A shove. I ignore it.
He’s pulling me further, toward the shadows of the corner.
He stops and turns, backing us against the wall. Before I can think, I press my body against his, hands finding the smooth fabric of his shirt to grip his shoulders.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” he says, dipping his head, amused. “How is it I’ve not seen you here before?”
“What’s… your name?” I demand, my voice low.
His lips brush my ear. “Does it matter?” he teases.
I stare up at him, my vision blurring. I arch my back and grab a fistful of his shirt, my body now flush with his. His movements become more insistent. His hand slides down my back, lower…
Lower.
A squeeze.
Revulsion flares. A momentary urge to pull away. I crush it, forcing myself to stay lost in the moment.
This is wrong.
A small voice whispers in the back of my mind. I shut it out.
I need this.
This oblivion. This escape. This revenge.
Revenge…
James… Friday… This club…
“You will be here Friday… next… Friday?” I ask, my voice a slurred whisper, lips almost brushing his earlobe.
Suddenly, a hand grips my arm. A sharp, forceful tug that breaks my hold.
A roaring voice, familiar and furious, cuts through the music. “You’re done!”
My head snaps up, eyes struggling to focus on the figure looming over me.
Matthew…?
His face is a mask of barely controlled rage. His green eyes darken with an intensity I’ve never seen before. But it’s not directed at the stranger. It’s directed at me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls me away, his grip tight, almost painful.
“Let go!” I slur, trying to wrench my arm free.
The room tilts precariously.
“Hey man, she said let go.” The stranger’s voice is closer now, sharp with indignation.
Matthew tenses. The heat of his anger radiates off him. “Leave,” he growls, a dangerous rumble in his throat.
“You leave.” The stranger steps forward, squaring his shoulders. “We were doing just fine before you showed up. Right, gorgeous?” He smirks at me.
Matthew’s body goes rigid. A tremor runs through him. He releases my arm and steps in front of me, eyes locked on the stranger.
“Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
The stranger scoffs, taking another step forward. “Or what? You gonna—”
Matthew shoves him hard, sending him stumbling backward.
“You have five seconds to disappear.”
The promise of violence in Matthew’s eyes is unmistakable.
I didn’t come here for this.
They’re ruining everything.
I slip away.