Page 16 of Dreams and Desires

Every resort looks the same. Giant footprints stamped onto land that used to breathe. He takes places like this and turns them into something else—something shiny and loud that only rich people can enjoy.

I scroll until my thumb cramps.

When I finally look up, I realize it’s been almost an hour. The bar’s louder now. Someone turned the music up. People are on the small dance floor near the jukebox, half-drunk and swaying to the beat.

I toss back the rest of my drink and stand.

I don’t usually dance. I don’t usually do this kind of thing at all. But my head’s spinning and my chest is tight and I need something to cut through it.

So I walk out there.

The music’s got this low, pulsing rhythm. I let it take over. Let my body move without thinking. Not sexy. Not polished. Just motion. Just sweat and noise and distraction.

I’m almost starting to feel okay when I feel a hand on my waist.

It jolts me. Not gentle. Not casual.

I turn fast. There’s a man standing behind me. Tall. Smirking. Way too close.

"Hey there," he says, leaning in. I can smell the beer on his breath. It’s thick. "You looked like you wanted company."

I step back. "No. I’m good."

He moves forward like I didn’t say anything. "Aw, come on. Don’t be like that."

His hand tightens.

Something inside me locks up. My throat. My stomach. My arms.

I try to pull away. "Let go."

He grins wider, like this is funny.

"Relax. I’m just having fun."

That’s when the panic hits. Hard and fast. Everything closes in. The music, the lights, the bodies around me—it’s too much.

"Let go of me," I say again, louder now.

He doesn’t.

I shove him.

He stumbles back a few steps, catches himself, and looks at me like I’ve just ruined his night.

"Crazy bitch," he mutters.

He walks off.

I stand there for a second, there’s a thump in my chest I can’t ignore. My whole body is shaking.

No one around us even looks.

I walk straight out.

The night air slams into me. Cold. Sharp. I walk fast, boots hitting the pavement with every step. I don’t look back.

By the time I hit my block, my hands are still shaking. The whiskey’s worn off. The music’s still echoing in my head.

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