Page 28 of One Night in Glasgow
The bartender slid my drink across the counter. I knocked it back in one go, relishing the burn as I drank it. “Another,” I said, pushing the empty red cup back towards him.
As the night wore on, I lost myself in the rhythm of the party. Drink, dance, repeat. It was easier than thinking about what happened to Colter, or my parents, or the mess I’d madeof my life and probably Sean’s life, too. I was a real piece of shit, but here, in the pulsing center of the party, I could pretend that none of it mattered.
Then as I stumbled to the bathroom, the world spinning, reality came crashing back when I caught sight of myself, eyes glassy and unfocused. For a heartbeat, I paused.
“What the fuck are you doing, Beth?” I whispered to myself. But the girl in the mirror had no answers for me.
I splashed some water on my face, trying to clear my head. As I reached for a towel, two girls squeezed into the small bathroom.
“Did you hear about Colter?” one of them said. “Such a waste. He was so good looking.”
“I know, right?” the other replied. “But like, what’d he expect? You play with fire, you get burned.”
Their callous words stung. Is that how people would talk about me if I ended up like Colter? Just a rich kid who partied too hard, not worth more than a moment’s gossip?
I stumbled out of the bathroom, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The music that had seemed so inviting earlier now grated on my nerves. The press of bodies around me felt suffocating. I needed to get out of here. But where could I go? Home to my parents and their disappointment? Back to my empty flat with nothing but my own thoughts for company?
As I pushed my way towards the exit, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Probably Kinna again. For a second, I considered answering. Considered letting someone in, admitting that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as okay as I pretended to be. But then I remembered the look on Mrs. Campbell’s face when she asked me to leave the charity. The headlines screaming about my latest scandal. The way Sean had looked at me in that garden, right before everything fell apart.
No, I wasn’t ready to deal with any of that right now. I couldn’t face their concern or their judgment or their pity. It was easier to keep running, to lose myself in the noise and the chaos.
I spotted a guy I vaguely recognized from the club scene. He caught my eye and grinned, holding up a small baggie filled with white powder. “Want some?” he mouthed, gesturing for me to join him.
Colter’s face flashed in my mind, the wordfentanylscreaming loud. My stomach churned. “No,” I mouthed back, shaking my head sharply. “Not that. Not anymore.”
The guy’s grin didn’t falter. He shrugged, then reached into a different pocket, pulling out a couple of joints and a small, clear baggie with a few brightly colored gummy bears. “No worries, darling. Got some killer weed if that’s more your speed? Or these little fellas…” He shook the gummies. “They’ll send you to the moon if you just wanna forget everything for a while. Two of these with all that vodka you’ve been downing, and you won’t remember your own name.” He winked.
Forget everything.The words resonated deep in the hollow ache where my hope used to be. Yes. That’s exactly what I needed. To not remember my name, my mistakes, my life. The girls’ words in the bathroom echoed:You play with fire; you get burned.Fine. Maybe I was tired of playing it safe, tired of trying and failing. Maybe I just wanted to feel the burn, to let it consume everything until there was nothing left.
I crossed the room to him, plastering on my best, most reckless party girl smile. “The gummies sound perfect,” I said, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. “Let’s have some fun.”
As I followed him to a quieter corner of the party, I felt my phone go off again in my pocket. But this time, I didn’t evenbother to check who it was. Whatever they had to say, it could wait. Right now, all I wanted was to forget. To forget about Sean, about Colter, about the charity and my parents and every fucking thing that had gone wrong. To forget about the girl I used to be, the one who thought she could change, could be better. That girl was gone now, lost in a haze of alcohol and bad decisions. And ya know what? I was glad to see her go.
I groanedas consciousness slowly crept back. My skull felt like it was caught in a vise, each pulse sending a fresh, sickening wave of pressure through me. The first thing I noticed was the cold, hard floor beneath me. What the fuck? I cracked open an eye, harsh sunlight stabbing my retinas.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up. My stomach lurched. I was on the floor of my apartment, still in last night’s clothes, which reeked of stale booze and cigarettes.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, trying to smooth down my tangled hair. How the hell did I get here? I tried to piece it together. Flashes of the night came back in disjointed fragments. The party house. The gut-wrenching news about Colter. The burn of vodka. Popping those sickly-sweet gummies a guy gave me… a handful, maybe? The room spinning. After that, a complete and terrifying blank.
I stumbled to my feet, swaying as the room righted itself. My purse was on the floor near the door, its contents spilled out in a messy heap. How did I get home? Walked? A taxi? My memory was a black hole, leaving me cold with a fear that went beyond a simple hangover.
I made it to the bathroom and leaned heavily on the counter, staring at my reflection. I looked like death warmedover. As I peeled off my shirt, I saw a large, ugly bruise blooming on my forearm, dark against my pale skin. I didn’t remember getting it. A nauseous feeling settled in my gut. This wasn’t just a wild night; this felt different. This was a new low, even for me. Blacking out? Waking up on the floor with no memory and a mystery bruise? That was fucking terrifying.
After a shower that did little to clear the fog, I was rummaging through the spilled contents of my purse, looking for my wallet. My fingers closed around a crumpled piece of paper. A taxi receipt. The relief was immense. At least I had a clue. The receipt had a number at the bottom.
My hands trembled as I took out my phone. I needed to know what happened. I needed to fill in that black hole. I dialed the number.
“Glasgow Central Taxis, this is Brenda speaking,” a cheerful voice answered.
“Hello,” I said, my own voice raspy. “I… I think I left something in one of your cabs last night. A handbag. I have the receipt number.” I read it out to her.
“One moment, love.” I heard the clacking of a keyboard. “Ah yes, that was one of Gerry’s fares. Let me see… oh.” Her tone shifted. “Hold on a tick. I know that voice. Elisabeth MacLeod? Is that you?”
My stomach dropped. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I recognized your voice. You were in the year above me at school. I’m a huge fan!” she said, her voice filled with a surprising warmth. “Well, not a fan of what those rags write about you. Total character assassination, that is. That business with the American speaker? Blatant double standard. My pals and I were just talking about it. A woman can’t have a bit of fun without being dragged through the mud.”
I was stunned into silence. A fan? At the taxi dispatch?
