Blinded

Chapter 14

Kayla – POV

The bass in the club is so loud I can feel it in my chest, like it's syncing with my heartbeat—or maybe replacing it. My head's a little fuzzy, but I don't care. I don't want to care. That's kind of the point.

I'm leaned up against the bar, drink in one hand, phone in the other, and somebody's behind me with their hands on my waist. I let it happen. I'm not even sure who it is. Doesn't matter.

Alyssa's somewhere nearby, grinding on a guy in a Lakers jersey, her lip gloss smudged and her eyes glazed with too much tequila and not enough sense. And honestly? I'm not far behind her.

I flip to the front camera on my phone and press record.

"Y'all outside or nah?" I say to the lens, voice slurring just enough to sound wild, not gone. My curls are everywhere, makeup a little smeared, dress riding up with every move I make—and I don't even bother pulling it down.

I turn around and start dancing. Back arched, tongue out, peace sign thrown up. The kind of video that makes people stare too long. The kind that makes you feel powerful until you play it back.

Which I do.

I watch it again before posting, even though I already know I'm going to. My body moving, my dress barely holding on, my eyes looking... empty. Still, I hit "Add to Story."

Because deep down, I want him to see it. Let Clarence watch this and wonder. Let him sit with that same confusion I've been sitting in. Let everyone see this version of me that doesn't care.

Except I do. I care way too much.

I scroll back up and watch it again. It's not cute. Not classy. It's not even me. But lately, I don't even know what "me" is.

I take another sip and laugh too hard at something no one said. Someone offers me another drink, and I take it without blinking. Or maybe I blink too much and pretend I don't notice how heavy my chest feels. Like all the stuff I've been shoving down is trying to come back up at the worst possible time.

Truth is—I haven't been myself in weeks. Not since my mom left for work and said she wouldn't be back until next year. Not since Clarence started popping up in my head more than I want to admit. And definitely not since my ex made me feel like I wasn't enough and then proved it.

I've been partying too much. Missing school. Laughing too loud. Smiling too wide. Posting too much.

I don't even recognize myself lately.

Alyssa catches my eye from across the room, a slight frown tugging at her lips. She doesn't say anything. Just raises a brow like she's asking, You good?

I smile like I am. She doesn't buy it. But she doesn't push.

And I'm thankful for that.

Because if she did—I don't know what I'd say.

I'm still swaying at the bar, drink in hand, trying not to let the heat crawling up my neck mean anything. Another notification lights up my screen—reactions to my story already. Fire emojis. Heart eyes. A "damn girl 😳" from some guy I barely know.

It should feel good, right?

It doesn't.

Then someone tall slides up beside me. He's got on an expensive chain, diamond studs flashing when the strobe lights hit just right, and a face I swear I've seen on ESPN before. Or maybe just all over TikTok.

I glance up and yeah—he's exactly who I think he is. NBA rookie, plays for Lakers. Tattoos up his neck, that arrogant kind of smile, the kind that dares you to say no.