Shadows and Stars ✔

Chapter Fourteen

Taking a larger than usual intake of breath, I walk bravely through the doors of Plasma.

Separating myself from the rest of the group was a stupid idea, especially given the fact that I'm in a city I barely know. But I can't seem to fight the pull that Plasma has on me; my feet seemingly independent from my brain right now.

Inhaling, I force my way through the masses, my head spinning with adrenaline. And probably alcohol too.

I've no doubt that Hailey has probably not even noticed I've gone, given how drunk she is, but a small part of me believes that I can be in and out of here quick enough to be back at that club without anyone questioning my absence.

Hopefully, Mia. Hopefully.

Approaching the huge, marbled bar, every cell inside of me shakes with fear. Will I see Grayson again in just a few seconds? I suck in a breath, longing for the sick-like feeling inside of me to wither away.

Surrounded my crowds of patrons, most of whom have no awareness of personal space, I throw a look down the bar. But I'm disappointed when my barman is nowhere to be seen.

A knot forms in my stomach, my eyes falling. I'm not sure what I was expecting exactly, but a part of me so desperately wanted to see Grayson working here; to be in his presence for just another moment.

I'm not even sure why he has so much of a pull on me. But he does. And I keep giving into it.

"Drink?" A deep voice sounds from behind my ear, breaking me from my search. I turn, frowning at a red-haired man who offers a cocktail out to me.

"Umm, no thanks." I say, briefly taken aback by his gesture. "I'm good."

"Go on, it's just a drink!" He extends his arm, his small, thin lips bending in amusement. "Go on, I just ordered it. Let your hair down!"

I stare for a minute, gulping and throwing a look behind my shoulder.

Does he think I'm someone else?

Turning back, the man still has his eyes on me, his somewhat friendly face drawing me in.

Maybe people are just friendly round here. It is a student night after all, and maybe everyone is just up for meeting new people in readiness for the new term.

Accepting that this night has already been filled with spontaneity, I shrug and take the cocktail from the man, his grin friendly and soft. I'm not sure what it is; it's coloured blue and tastes sweet, but it's refreshing and delicious nonetheless, so I thank the man with a smile, turning on my heel to continue my search.

The crowds are thick, the air humid, and as I saunter clumsily through the overly large nightclub, cocktail in hand, I come to the realisation that I'm looking for someone who is probably not here.

Quite frankly, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack, and I'm not sure if I'll find that perfect, beautiful needle. Maybe it's just not meant to be; maybe we weren't meant to meet again.

It happens.

It's crap, but it happens.

Finishing the last of my cocktail, I place the empty glass on a nearby table and start to the door. I throw a final glance over the busy room, hoping to see that beautiful man, but my efforts are wasted; he's not here.

Of course he isn't.

Stepping outside, the knock on effect of drink mixing finally takes it toll on me; hitting me like a train at full speed.

My eyes daze, my stomach spiralling with nausea.

This isn't good. I need to find Hailey and the others, but I have no idea where I am. I can barely see anything past the stars in my eyes.

One hand flies to my stomach, begging myself to not throw up again, and the other flies to a nearby wall, supporting my now weak body.

It's hot. It's too damn hot. The air isn't cooling me down, and my legs aren't keeping me upright.

With sweat beading on my forehead, my head spinning frantically, I groan, unable to fight alcohol's attack on my body. I'm alone and terrified, lost in a city that I surely can't navigate alone and ill.

With one final push of willpower, I inhale deeply. But when my cheek meets the wet of the pavement below me, I succumb to my weakness. 

***

"Mia—fucking hell Mia! Shit!"

A loud voice wakes me from my paralytic state, confusion clouding my mind.

Where am I? How long have I been here? What's even happening?

"Move!" The unknown voice bellows. "Just fuck off, okay?"

"Sorry mate, just trying to help," another voice sounds, but in a higher tone.

"I don't need your help, we're fine okay?"

Even as I try to open my eyes, I can't see anything beyond a blur. A cloud of darkness. I lay motionless, a dark shadow hunched over me, with my dignity leaving me in a shell on this cobbled, wet street.

This is horrible. It's a nightmare.

Unexpectedly, suddenly, I'm hauled from the ground, the mysterious being gripping their large arms under my body, lifting me against their chest.

"Fucking hell, darlin'. What did you do?"

I swear I know that voice.

But I ignore it—I'm just grateful for the soft material of their shirt, relishing the comforting scent of their skin. I know this could be anyone right now—and I could be in danger—but my body won't function, nor will my mind. And surprisingly, I find comfort in the safety of the person's strong arms.

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