22. I Can’t Breathe
I CAN’T brEATHE
ANDERS
Pet’ka
I’m sorry. I was out of line.
Please just come home tonight so I know you’re okay
And please be safe
There is entirely too much happening inside this minivan.
Aviva is squished against my right side in the middle row, half draped over me as she leans forward between the seats.
Up front, Malloy has somehow become best friends with our Uber driver.
On my left, Lee is drunk enough to be swaying with every turn but still somehow functions better than the rest of us combined.
Behind us, Charlie and Fatin have spent the last ten minutes filming TikToks while Vandy sits trapped between them looking like he’s being transported to prison against his will.
“Babe, what the hell is this song?” Aviva snorts. She reaches forward and pokes Malloy’s chin.
The song currently blasting through the speakers sounds like someone recorded farm animals fighting in a Walmart parking lot and remixed it with a Travis Scott song, but apparently Malloy and some of the other guys on the team think it’s the funniest thing in the world. Fucking weirdos.
The Uber driver laughs so hard he has to wipe his eyes.
“Animals Of The Farm,” Malloy answers, reading off his phone. “Classic. A masterpiece, actually.”
“That explains the animal noises,” I mutter.
“Sounds like the kind of shit music my son makes,” the driver says in a thick accent. His name is Raúl, and he’s spent most of the ride alternating between laughing at us and questioning our collective intelligence. I’m his biggest fan.
Raúl glances toward Lee. “Mi hijo es soltero,” he says suggestively. “Es músico.”
Lee immediately straightens like they’re a sleeper agent. “Hostia. Soy lesbiana,” they reply apologetically. "La chica guapa con tetas grandes es mi novia."
Raúl blinks, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror. “?En el asiento trasero?”
“Sí, sí.”
Raúl nods approvingly. "Ah, ya veo. Hermosa."
“Claro.”
“Lee, where the fuck did you learn Spanish?” Malloy asks, craning his entire body around.
“Soy de Barcelona.” Lee shrugs. “I speak Spanish and Catalan and a little French. Not as good as Anders’ French, but pretty decent.”
“Bar-the-lona,” Aviva says dramatically.
“Bar-the-lona,” I echo.
Twenty minutes later, we’re cutting through the line at Crossbody while the bouncer waves Malloy and Vandy through like royalty.
The club hits all at once the second we step inside.
Bass rattles through the floor hard enough that I can feel it in my chest, flashing blue and gold lights sweeping over the crowd in uneven bursts.
The air smells like expensive perfume, spilled liquor, sweat, and whatever citrus-scented cleaning product the staff used before opening.
It’s warm enough that my jacket immediately feels like a stuffy, hot straightjacket.
Our booth sits upstairs overlooking the dance floor below.
Aviva immediately starts ordering rounds like she’s trying to singlehandedly keep the bar in business at the expense of her boyfriend, while Malloy and Vandy get into some argument about music that Vandy very clearly loses.
Lee and Fatin disappear less than ten minutes after we arrive.
Nobody is surprised. Charlie also vanishes, which is even less of a shock. She’s a wanderer.
By the time Seth shows up, I’ve got enough alcohol in my system that everything feels pleasantly warm and fuzzy. The kind of drunk where everybody suddenly seems funnier than they really are, which, arguably, is the best kind of drunk.
My head feels quiet for about five whole minutes before I cave and reread the texts Parker sent me while I was in the car.
I’m not quite sure which mental illness I have that makes it impossible to let any of my wounds heal, but it feels like Parker is some sort of nasty infection that refuses to go away.
Pet’ka
Can you say something?
Please
Just come home.
I leave him on read.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Seth slides into the booth beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders before kissing my cheek. Normally I’d roll my eyes and tell him he’s embarrassing. Tonight, I let him. Actually…fuck it.
I grab his jaw and kiss him. The surprise lasts all of half a second before he’s kissing me back. His hand rests against my hip while the music pounds around us, blue light flashing across his face every few seconds. For a moment, I let myself sink into it.
What I like about Seth is that everything with him is uncomplicated. He’s not trying to change my life. He’s not trying to fix me. He’s not looking for forever…he’s just here for a fun time.
“Mm.” I pull back with a grin. “Hey, Sethie.”
“Drunk Anders missed me,” he says, brushing his nose against mine. “Drunk Anders tastes like sugary cocktails.”
I laugh. “You need to catch up,” I tell him, fisting the bottom of his shirt. “I wanna dance.”
“Since when?”
“Drunk Anders likes dancing.” I point to myself. “Drunk Anders likes to have fun.”
Seth pours himself a beer from one of the pitchers. “Good for Drunk Anders.” Some of it sloshes over the rim. Without thinking, I grab a napkin and start soaking it up. He raises his brows. “Wow. Drunk Anders is suspiciously responsible.”
“Yeah, well. I contain multitudes.”
“That’s so hot, babe. You know what—” I roll my eyes. That’s code for “let’s go fuck in the bathroom.”
“Bathroom?” he asks hopefully. There it is. I’m pretty fluent in Slutty Seth talk.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Seth grins.
“Dance first.” I drag a finger down the front of his shirt. “I’m not that easy.”
“Yeah…but I am.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on, handsome.”
I take it, but unfortunately that’s the exact moment Vandy appears. I swear to God the guy materializes out of nowhere. One second he isn’t there, the next, he’s standing beside us carrying three pitchers like some kind of giant hockey-playing cryptid. “Dancing?” he asks.
I blink at him. “Yeah.”
His eyes flick toward Seth, then back to me, then toward Seth again. Something about the look is weird, but I chalk it up to me being too bitchy when I drink.
“Seth, right?” he asks. He sticks out his hand. Seth shakes it willingly.
And thats when I freak the fuck out, because I’m getting flashbacks to a few months ago when Parker flipped his shit over Seth and I. When he asked me not to keep seeing Seth. When he kissed me and called me a good boy…
The memory hits me so hard my stomach convulses. God. Could my brain be any more annoying?
“Nice to meet you,” Seth says.
Vandy stares at him for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat. “Cool.” Then another second passes. “Let’s dance, guys.”
I squint. “What?”
“Let’s go dance.”
“With…us?”
“Yeah.”
The three of us stare at each other while the bass shakes the floor beneath our feet. Finally Seth shrugs. “The more the merrier.” And of course he says it. The man would invite Martha Stewart into a threesome if given the opportunity.
Then his expression shifts, mouth dropping into a lazy, but suggestive grin. I recognize it immediately. He’s on the fucking prowl.
I immediately start laughing. “Seth…no. Don’t.”
Seth waves me off, but Vandy looks wearily over to me. “Seth thinks you’re hot,” I explain immediately.
“What?”
I point at Seth, then point back at Vandy right after.
“He’s one drink away from inviting you to the big stall in the men’s room.
” Vandy freezes so completely that it’s almost impressive, opening his mouth to call bullshit, but then something seemingly clicks inside his head.
“Well?” I ask. “What’s the verdict, Vandy? ”
“Are you asking...if I’m attracted to Seth?”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretches long enough that I start laughing harder. Finally, Vandy shrugs and says, “he’s ‘aight.” I nearly choke. Seth starts laughing even harder. Vandy immediately looks like he regrets opening his mouth. “Okay. Whatever. Can we dance now?” he asks.
The dance floor is a blur of lights and bodies.
Blue and purple strobes flash overhead, beaming on sequins and jewelry and the occasional sweaty forehead before disappearing again.
The bass vibrates through my ribs hard enough that I can feel it in my teeth.
Every time somebody brushes past me, they’re either sticky from spilled drinks or wearing enough perfume to knock out a small animal.
For a while, it’s actually fun. Seth dances with the confidence of a man who has never once been embarrassed in his life.
He keeps a hand on my hip while I laugh at him and pretend not to enjoy the attention.
Somewhere behind us, Aviva is screaming the lyrics to a song she definitely doesn’t know, and Malloy looks one minor inconvenience away from throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her home to put her to bed.
All the alcohol I’ve consumed settles pleasantly beneath my skin. Unfortunately, Vandy is still here.
I don’t really notice it at first. The club is packed. People are constantly moving around us. It’s normal to keep running into the same faces. But then Seth pulls me closer and Vandy somehow appears beside us again.
A few songs later, I glance over my shoulder. Still there. Then we move toward the other side of the dance floor. Still there, like he’s a very large, very socially awkward moon orbiting us.
I snort to myself. Maybe he’s just lonely, which almost makes me feel bad for him. Eventually, I hook my arms around his neck. Mostly because he’s tall. Partly because I want to see what happens. Drunk Anders likes to stir the pot. “You look miserable.”
“What?”
“You.” I poke his cheek. “You look like you’ve been held hostage.”
Vandy reluctantly wraps his arms around my waist. “Oh.” His nose wrinkles. “You’re sweaty, de Sousa.”
I stare at him. “You don’t open with hello?”
“Hello. You are sweaty.”
“I run hot.”
“That’s concerning, Anderson.”
I gasp. “It’s not concerning!”
“It’s a little concerning.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t have to hold me.”
He smirks. “I know.”
“Then, why are you?”
He thinks about it for a second, laughing when he comes up with an appropriate answer. “I’m trying to absorb your energy.”