Page 48 of Madness

I cut him off. "I said I'm fine. Drop it, okay?"

He looks like he wants to say more but just shakes his head and lets me pass. As we pile into Ubers, I catch a glimpse of my bandmates exchanging worried looks. I turn away, focusing instead on the excited chatter of the Incendiary Ink guys.

The Uber pulls away from the curb, and I lean my head against the cool glass of the window. The city lights blur past, and I feel a familiar buzz settling in my veins. It's been so long since I've felt this... normal. This free.

But with that freedom comes a nagging voice in the back of my head. What about Lauren? What about all the promises I've made?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. It's just one night. One celebration. I deserve this, don't I? After all the hard work, all the struggles to stay sober. Surely, I've earned the right to let loose a little.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Lauren. Guilt twists in my gut, but I silence it, shoving the phone deep into my pocket. I'll call her tomorrow, I promise myself. Right now, the night is young, and I've got something to prove.

To my bandmates, to myself, to the memory of Chloe that still haunts me. I can still hear her laughter from those nights long ago, a bittersweet reminder of everything I've lost and gained. I can do this. I can be normal. I can have just one drink.

Chase's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You're gonna love this place, Dakota. They've got this insane light show, and the drinks... man, the drinks are something else."

I nod, forcing a smile. "Sounds great," I say, ignoring the pit forming in my stomach. It's just one night.

As we pull up to the club, bass already thrumming through the car, a small voice in the back of my head whispers: But will you stop at one?

I drown it out with laughter at one of Chase's jokes as we tumble out of the car. The neon lights of the club beckon, promising escape, release. I follow the others inside, leaving my doubts on the curb behind me.

The club is a blur of strobe lights and pounding music. More drinks appear in my hand. I down them without thinking, chasing that euphoria, that freedom from thought.

A girl with purple hair presses against me on the dance floor. Her lips move, but I can't hear her over the music. She's pretty, I think distantly. But not as pretty as Lauren.

Lauren. The name cuts through the haze like a knife.

What the fuck am I doing?

I stumble away from Purple Hair, fumbling for my phone. The screen swims before my eyes, but I manage to pull up Lauren's contact. My finger hovers over the call button.

No. I can't let her hear me like this.

Instead, I text:

ME: Miss yuo. Cant wait to com e home.

The typos mock me, a stark reminder of how far I've strayed in just one night. Shame burns through me, hotter than the alcohol in my veins.

I need to get out of here. I need to get back to the hotel. I need...

I need to be better than this.

As I push through the crowd towards the exit, I make a silent promise to Lauren, to Roman, to myself. This can't happen again. I won't let it.

But even as I think it, a traitorous part of me whispers: Will you be able to keep that promise?

The cool night air hits me like a slap as I stumble out of the club. My head spins, and I lean against the brick wall, trying to steady myself. The bass from inside still thrums through my body, a reminder of how close temptation remains.

I fumble again for my phone, squinting at the too-bright screen. It takes me three tries to successfully order an Uber. As I wait, I scroll through my contacts, thumb hovering again over Lauren's name. I want so badly to hear her voice. But what would I fucking say now? How could I explain this?

The Uber arrives mercifully quick. As I slide into the backseat, the driver eyes me warily in the rearview mirror. "Rough night?" he asks.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As we pull away from the curb, I watch the neon lights of the club recede. The guilt and shame sit heavy in my stomach, worse than any hangover.

Back at the hotel, I manage to make it to my room without running into any of my bandmates. Small fucking mercies. I collapse onto the bed, still fully clothed, the room spinning around me.

On the nightstand, my phone lights up with a text. Lauren.

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