Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[23]

"Sometimes it's not love that breaks your heart."

- -

Sloan

A dizzying surge of panic.

My head feels submerged, as though I'm drowning in a place where the surface is just out of reach.

I can't breathe.

Alex says my name—repeating it, steady and measured—urging me to stay in his office, to let him help me process this rationally. To stop me from doing something reckless. Something I can't take back.

To keep me from losing my fucking mind.

But the weight of his concern is suffocating.

I yank my hand free from his grip, snatch up my belongings, and stumble toward the door, nearly tripping over the thick carpet in my haste.

Claire, the receptionist, lifts her head as I pass. Her brows knit together, her voice soft but probing. "Everything alright?"

I don't answer. I don't stop. I barely notice the heads turning as I step onto the street, heels clicking against the wet pavement.

The city hums around me—muffled voices, the distant wail of a siren, the rhythmic splatter of rain against glass—but it all fades beneath the deafening roar in my head.

And Ally's voice, still echoing from the phone call just minutes ago.

"Hey!" my voice cuts through the night as I flag down a man sliding into the driver's seat of a cab across the street. "Are you free?"

He glances up, startled, then gives a quick nod.

A moment later, the car swings into a sharp U-turn, tires hissing against the rain-slick asphalt as it pulls up in front of me.

I throw myself into the backseat, gripping my shoes in one hand. The driver eyes me briefly in the rearview mirror but doesn't comment.

"What's the address?" he asks.

"The Hempers bar." I blurt out. "You know where it is?"

He frowns, punching the name into his GPS. A second later, he sighs. "No signal. Maps isn't loading. You got an address?"

My mind blanks. My thoughts are a blur of static and frayed edges, and for a terrifying moment, I can't even remember my own last name, let alone a street.

Only the voices remain, clawing at the edges of my sanity, whispering that everything is falling apart.

"Just start driving." I exhale sharply. "I'll direct you."

He hesitates but nods, merging into the sluggish flow of traffic. The city looms around us, neon signs casting fleeting glows onto rain-streaked windows, taillights pulsing like erratic heartbeats.

It's too slow.

We'll never get there.

My foot bounces against the floor, restless. My fingers curl into my palms, nails pressing crescents into my skin.

"Can we go any faster?" my voice is tight, strained.

"Any faster, and I'm putting you in danger." he replies, exhaling through his nose.

"I'll give you an extra twenty."

"It doesn't work like that." he mutters, shaking his head, his annoyance barely concealed.

I clench my jaw, swallowing down the frustration clawing its way up my throat. The streets stretch ahead—dark and endless—and I wonder if I'll be too late.