Butterflies

Chapter 3

The music hit like a wall the second I stepped inside—thumping bass that rattled my bones and made every heartbeat feel off-rhythm. Bodies everywhere, sweaty teenagers grinding, laughing too loud, spilling drinks like it was free. I shoved through them, feeling like I was swimming upstream through possessed party animals. My blue pajamas suddenly felt way too thin, like I was wearing a neon sign that screamed "I don't belong here."
I pulled out my phone again and redialed that unfamiliar number. Straight to voicemail. My pulse kicked up another notch. Where the hell was he? I weaved faster, dodging elbows and plastic cups, scanning every face for that stupid familiar grin.
My phone buzzed in my hand. I fumbled it open, heart in my throat—please be him. Nope. Demi's name glowed on the screen. Shit. We were supposed to binge that new series tonight. I could already picture her ranting about how I ghosted. I swiped ignore and jammed the phone back into my pocket. Later. I'd deal with the guilt later.
Upstairs now. The hallway was darker, the music muffled but still pounding through the floorboards. Doors lined both sides—some cracked open with laughter spilling out, others locked and thumping. I pictured his friends dragging him to a bed, maybe throwing a blanket over him like he was a passed-out puppy. Please let that be it.
"Alex!" My voice cracked over the noise.
"Alex!!" Louder. Desperate.
"Alex!" Almost yelling now.
"Julia?" Someone behind me.
I spun. Caleb.
"Oh thank God. Have you seen Alex?"
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting. "Uh..."
"Uh what?" I stepped closer, impatience flaring.
"Did Angelica tell you to come?" His voice was low, careful.
"Caleb! I'm looking for Alex—what the hell does Angelica have to do with this?"
He sighed, defeated. "Fine. Last room on the left." He pointed down the hall.
"Thank you," I muttered, already moving. Worry twisted into something sharper—dread.
The door was cracked. I shoved it open hard.
"Alex?!"
I flicked on the light.
The room was small, clothes everywhere, dim red string lights still on. And there, on the bed: Jennie—wide-eyed, hair messed up, frozen mid-straddle on top of a very drunk Alex. His shirt half-off, hands on her hips. The scene burned into my brain in one horrible second.
I didn't scream. I just stood there, the door still open behind me.
The shouting started almost instantly—mine, his, the crowd that formed in the doorway like vultures. Phones out, recording. Always recording.
"I drove fifty minutes at midnight—you know how strict my mom is—for your drunk ass, and this is what I walk into?"
"For fuck's sake, Julia!" He shoved Jennie off gently, stumbling to his feet. His eyes were glassy, red-rimmed.
"Just let me rest. You follow me around like a damn dog every time. If you hadn't come this time, you wouldn't have seen shit."
"Yo, Alex, tell your bitch to calm down—she's bumming me out," David called from the corner, that smug grin plastered on.
"Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec. Sometimes she acts fucking insane," Alex muttered, snickering like it was a joke we were all in on.
Something snapped.
One thing to cheat on me. Another to let your pathetic friends call me a bitch while you laugh it off.

"Fuck you."
My right hand balled into a fist—like I'd done it my whole life—and drove straight into his jaw.
The crack echoed.
His head snapped sideways, knees buckled, hit the carpet.
One punch.
Done.
I stared for half a second—just long enough to see the shock on everyone's face
Tears burned hot, but I refused to let them fall here. Not in front of these people. I shoved through the crowd—elbows, shoulders, phones still up—and stormed down the stairs, out the door, into the cold night air.
The drive home was a blur. Streetlights streaking. Radio off. Just my ragged breathing and the echo of that slap in my head.
Bright morning sun stabbed through my curtains. Headache first—throbbing, relentless. I rolled over, grabbed my phone. Missed calls: Angelica (5), Demi (7), a few unknowns. Texts too. I didn't read them. Just sighed, tossed the phone, and pulled the covers over my head like a shield.
The door flew open. Demi and Angelica barged in like they owned the place.
"Get up now!" Demi marched to the bed.
"Leave me be," I mumbled into the pillow.
"Honey, have you eaten?" Angelica's voice softer, tugging the sheets down gently.
"It's just 8," I groaned.
"8? Sweetie, it's 2 p.m." She held up her phone—clock glaring.
"Well, I'm not hungry."
"Don't be like that!" they said together, perfect harmony.
"You will eat. We're not letting you get sick over this idiot," Demi declared.
"Let's go make you something," Angelica added.
"I don't feel like eating." Covers back up.
They went quiet. I thought they'd left. Eyes closed, drifting toward sleep again.
Door burst open minutes later.
"Here—your favorite ramen!" they chorused, holding steaming bowls like trophies.
I peeked out. Couldn't help it—I chuckled. The sound surprised me.
I sat up slowly, back against the headboard.
"You two act like twins."
"Just eat!" Demi grinned, shoving a bowl at me.
"I will, Demi!" A tiny real smile cracked through.
"She smiled!!" Angelica squealed, clapping like a kid.
A couple hours later, I actually felt... almost human. The room filled with their chaos—stupid jokes, loud giggles, dramatic retellings of old drama. These girls were messy, loud, ridiculous—and the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart in this shitty high school world.
Evening crept in. They turned my room into a fashion show runway. I was judge, jury, and very biased audience. Angelica stepped out of the bathroom in the most absurd oversized hoodie-pajama combo, struck a ridiculous pose—and we lost it. Laughter hurt my stomach, my cheeks ached, and for the first time since last night, the weight felt lighter.
Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand. iMessage.
"We need to talk."
Sender: Alex.
I stared. The room's noise faded to a hum.
He saw I read it.
"I'm at the park behind your street."
My smile vanished. The air felt heavier again.