HYSTERIA

FORTY - HEAT OF THE MOMENT

HEAT OF THE MOMENT - ASIA

"It was the heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant, the heat of the moment showed in your eyes."

ARIEL CALLAWAY

It's been a few days since everything exploded, and each one has passed in a blur of alcohol and regret. I feel like I'm drifting through life, a ghost of myself, empty inside.

Every time I close my eyes, I can see the hurt on Harry's face and the disappointment in Louis' eyes. I can't shake the feeling that I've torn apart something that once felt so right. I thought I could handle the casual thing, but now it feels like I'm holding a shattered glass, pieces cutting into my palms, and I can't seem to let go.

I keep replaying that night over and over, the laughter that turned to confusion, then to heartbreak. A jumbled mess of fragments I can't piece together. I had to of gone there to apologize to Harry, to set things right and not end off on a bad note.

But when I arrived, the atmosphere was charged with a mix of emotions— anticipation and fear and anger swirling within me. I didn't expect to find myself caught up in the moment. Somewhere along the way, the warmth of the alcohol dulled my resolve. I remember the room spinning, the edges of my thoughts becoming hazy. Then there was Louis— or Harry, I thought. There was something intoxicating in his gaze and in that fleeting moment, I was lost.

The reflection of his eyes felt like a safe harbor, and it was a heat-of-the-moment decision that spiraled out of control. The weight of my intentions slipped away as I kissed him, caught in the allure of the moment without realizing the gravity of what I was doing.

And then, just like that, everything faded to black.

When I woke up the next morning, reality crashed down like a tidal wave, bringing with it a gut-wrenching sense of regret and shame. I couldn't shake the images—the confusion, the hurt— and the stark realization that I had betrayed Harry. I had walked into that night with a purpose, and somehow, I had thrown it all away in an instant.

I've barely seen June since it all went down—only in passing, when I make sure to avoid eye contact, pretending to be engrossed in my phone or the floor. I can't bear to talk about it. I know she's hurt too, but my own guilt feels like a weight I can't share. I can't face the questions, the pity.

Tonight is my date with Avery. I almost texted him to cancel thinking maybe I should just hide away until the storm passes, but what better way to move on than to find a distraction? I tell myself that anything is better than nothing.

I've convinced myself that a night out, a new face, could somehow erase the memories haunting me. But deep down, I know it hasn't worked before. I can't outrun my own feelings.

As I wait for him, I glance in the mirror, my reflection a reminder of the hysteria inside. I try to muster a smile, but it feels forced, like a mask.

When Avery finally arrives, the rumble of his motorcycle vibrates through the building and my heart skips a beat— only not for the right reasons. He looks better than ever, all confidence and southern charm. He strides up to the glass doors at the entrance of my apartment building, a smile on his face as he sees me waiting. I step outside and he leans in to kiss my cheek, "You look beautiful," he says, his voice warm.

"Thanks," I reply, the words feeling hollow. I wish I could feel something— excitement, joy, anything— but all I can think about is how this isn't what I need. I want to be the girl who goes out and has fun, who lets go of the past, but instead, I'm stuck in this suffocating haze of my own making. It's always my fault.