Trying to live

Chapter 51

I stared at Henry across the room.

He looked impeccable, laughing so carelessly it almost echoed above the music, while I was slowly falling apart.

Again.

When Leah left the room, the air felt too thick to breathe. I didn't have it in me to cry alone. I didn't want to sit with my thoughts, especially not after everything she'd just told me.

A sharp clank broke the silence.

My bag had slipped off the bed, spilling open, and my fake water bottle rolled onto the floor. I bent down, fingers trembling as I picked it up. The plastic felt cold against my palm. The familiar weight of it lit something inside me — grief mixed with fury, all tightening in my chest.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I unscrewed the lid with shaking fingers and gulped the vodka down. It burned violently, scraping down my throat like punishment. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The taste hit instantly — bitter, metallic, familiar.

I gathered my things and rushed to the bathroom. Lock. Water on. I drank from the sink like I'd been stranded for days. The water didn't wash the vodka out of me, but it grounded me enough to stand upright.

When I finally lifted my eyes to the mirror, I expected a monster.

Instead, I looked... fine. My makeup held. My face was flushed but intact. I just looked wasted.

I reapplied another layer of makeup anyway, painting over the parts of me cracking open.

And that bathroom door led me straight back here. I stared at Henry and Juliette as if the floor hadn't just collapsed under my feet.

I wanted to hurt them the way they hurt me. I wanted to do some damage.

Juliette leaned in and whispered something to Henry. He nodded. Then she turned to Leah, who smiled like she hadn't just detonated my entire world upstairs.

A heartbeat later, they were both gone.

Good.

I chugged the rest of my drink. Found another of Todd's fake water bottles. Poured it into a cup. Straightened my shoulders, shook out my hair, and crafted the flirtiest smile I could manage.

Then I sauntered toward Henry and his entourage.

"Hi," I said.

Henry's expression was impassive, but his eyes — they tracked me carefully, like he could sense the storm building behind my ribs. And then he turned away. Just... turned back to Adam Brody, who was telling a story about his runaway dog finding its way home.

Maybe I would've found it sweet if my life weren't a burning wreck.

"Come on, Henry. Let's dance." I grabbed his arm.

Before I could even tug, he slipped from my grasp and laughed.

In my face.

"I don't think so."

A ripple of quiet laughter ran through the group. Their eyes soaked up my humiliation as if it were entertainment.

"Why not?" I asked.

He stared coldly. "Because I don't want to dance with you. Now or ever."

I refused to let him see it land. Leah's words pulsed through me like venom, pushing me to take the next step.

I slid closer and touched his arm, fingers drifting along the muscle. "That's funny," I murmured. "I really want to dance."

He shook my hand off. "Then find someone else. Like your boyfriend."