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"A SHOT OF TEQUILA, PLEASE," I slurred. I couldn't tell you how many drinks we've had because, after the eighth shot, I stopped counting. The bartender passed me the Spanish beverage, and in thanking her, I raised my glass and took it to the head, before setting the glass back down on the countertop and turning to Jas. She was just as wasted as I was and came staggering towards me with a smile plastered on her face.
"Let's dance, babe," she finally said, chasing her words, yanking my arm to the dance floor. I obediently followed, clutching my purse that draped over my shoulder, my eyes suddenly squinting. The dance floor itself was this clear white colour, reflecting the multicoloured lights flashing from the ceiling, making my dress fluorescent.
The speakers, though almost hidden, blared a deep bass, sending vibrations from the top to the toe of my body, forcing me to dance. With my hips swaying from side to side and my thoughts only filled with drunken lyrics, I quickly made my way to the middle with Jas alongside me. Eyes followed us—or rather our bodies—and as if on cue, the sound of Rihanna's "Work" blaring from the speakers made us halt in our tracks and make eye contact.
"Bitch, you better dance to our song," Jas yelled, attempting to break through the base. In agreement, I began dancing, slowly lowering my body while swivelling my waist, ready to whine. 'Ay' soon echoed from the people surrounding us, causing a crowd to form.
As the chorus came to an end, I turned to search for Jas through the crowd, hoping to find her grinding on some guy. He showed to be her type to a T —tall and brunette.
"Yes, Jas!" I yelled, prolonging the S. She laughed in agreement. After what felt like 10 hours of dancing, I surrendered my dance moves, motioning to my best friend.
"I'm gonna chill at the bar a little. My feet hurt'' hurt was an understatement. The soles of my feet felt like they were on fire.
"Do you want me to come?" she questioned, looking a little disappointed.
"No, no, it's fine," I reassure her. She searches my face for any doubts before nodding her head and turning back to the dance floor, her waist laced with an arm.
Sitting back on the stool, the tension in my feet began to ease as I call for the bartender. Making her way towards me, I loudly call out for a glass of water in an attempt to get her to hear. In understanding, she nodded her head, filling a glass with water, and placed it on the counter before walking away to serve another customer.
Now that I am seated, I can look around the club properly. Bartenders were stationed throughout the club, dressed in dressy trousers and smart shirts—a bit more appropriate for business than a club, in my opinion. In fact, after removing the dance floor and bar, the club resembled a posh hotel rather than a club. Even on the streets of high-end retailers, it stood out, almost too much.
Wafting away my thoughts and taking small sips in my attempt to sober up a little, a sudden wave of discomfort began to form in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching me, and me being the person that I am, my eyes began to wonder in search for the person, and after searching, I couldn't keep my eyes from doing the same.
