Page 25 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

Once I’m dressed, I exit the stall and check my reflection in the mirror. The room feels smaller now, the club’s music distant, the weight of what I just did hanging in the air. I wipe my hands on the backup dress as I move through the men’s room, past the door, into the chaos of the club. I find a side door and step out into the night. I just need a moment to breathe, and then I’ll go back for Lily. The world outside seems so much louder, so much more alive than it did before.

But in my head, it’s still.

Dead silent.

21

HAYLEY

The vodka bottle empties faster than I expect. Max leans back on my bed, his feet dangling off the edge, and laughs at something Hannah says. I don’t know what, exactly. Her words are slurred, tumbling over each other like she’s forgotten how they’re supposed to go together. The bag of coke sits on my desk, its contents spread thin, the aftermath of their idea of fun.

My head swims, not from the alcohol—I didn’t drink that much—but from the tightness winding itself around my chest. Max keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to join in, like I’m one of them. But I’m not. I never have been. I sip from my water bottle and watch them, Hannah sprawled out on the floor now, her laugh hiccuping into silence.

“You’re quiet,” Max says, tilting his head at me. His smile is too big, too fake. He doesn’t notice that Hannah hasn’t moved in a while.

“Just tired,” I lie. My voice is steady, even though my pulse isn’t.

Hannah’s breathing starts to change. It’s subtle at first, a soft rasp that could almost pass as nothing. But it grows louder,more uneven. Her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, and she coughs, a weak, wet sound that sticks in the air.

I glance at Max. He’s oblivious, scrolling on his phone, one leg bouncing like he’s trying to burn off energy. He doesn’t notice her at all.

But I do.

I see her lips turning pale, the sweat beading on her forehead, the way her fingers twitch like she’s trying to grab hold of something that isn’t there.

“Max,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Hannah doesn’t look good.”

His head snaps up, his phone slipping out of his hand and onto the bed. He looks at her, his brow furrowing, and then back at me.

“She’s fine,” he says, but his voice cracks.

“She doesn’t look fine.”

He moves to her side, crouching down, shaking her shoulder. “Hey, Hannah. Wake up.”

She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is louder now, each gasp like a jagged edge cutting through the room.

“Shit,” he screeches, shaking her harder. “Hannah, come on. Wake the fuck up.”

Nothing.

Panic flickers across his face, quick and sharp, like he’s just realized he’s holding something that could explode in his hands.

“She’s not waking up,” he says, looking at me like I have the answer.

Something stirs inside me, but I don’t move. I just sit there, watching. Calculating. The pieces slotting into place faster than I can think.

“You gave her too much of that shit,” I say, my voice low, even. “Didn’t you?”

He flinches. “Itwasn’t— I didn’t?—”

“It’s yours,” I press, letting the words land heavily. “You gave it to her. You brought it here.”

He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“We should call someone,” he finally says, his voice shaky. “An ambulance or something.”

“And tell them what?” I snap, standing up. “That you gave her too much coke? You think they’re just gonna pat you on the back and let you walk out of here?”

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