Page 9 of Overdose
Glitter sticks to sweat-slicked skin. The stench of booze, weed, and regret clings to the air like fog.
Up here, in the booth, I’m still wired. Not high or drunk. Just twisted up in that sharp, sinking way that has no name. My headphones are still looped around my neck, one side pressed to my ear, the other hanging loose. Habit. Comfort. The only thing that’s kept me grounded through this whole fucking mess of a night.
I scrub a hand over my mouth and cue up the next track. Something slow and bitter. Synth-heavy. A beat that feels like rot blooming under skin. Something fitting.
Then she shows up.
Nother.
This one’s different. The easy type. Blonde, tall, fake tan. Glitter dress riding high on her thighs, lashes clumped andlipstick faded like she’s been begging someone to kiss her all night.
She slinks up to the booth like she’s auditioning for a porn shoot. Elbows on the edge of the table, tits pushed together, pout locked and loaded.
“Hey, Noir,” she purrs, practically melting against my side. Her fingers trail down my arm, light and static-charged. “You’re killing it up there… like, seriously. The way you dropped that last beat? I swear I almost came.”
I don’t even bother to look at her.
Of course she did. They always do—moan and melt the second I hit a build like it’s foreplay. But none of it matters. None of them do. Not when she’s out there somewhere, dancing like the world owes her something and she came to collect.
She leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You should come back to mine. I’ve got cold beer, Molly, and a big bed with no rules.”
I flick a switch. Adjust a level. Doing my best to fucking ignore her.
She tries again, this time pressing into me, her breath hot against my neck, voice low and needy. “Please? You look like you need it. I promise I’m fun. Real fun.”
Desperate and fucking pathetic.
Exactly what I used to go for when I wanted to forget how empty everything felt.
But not tonight.
Not with her still dancing down there, wrecked and radiant, all wild limbs and hollow eyes.
Not with that fucked-up pill glow making her shimmer under the lights. Not with the ghost of her smile still fucking with my head.
I finally glance at the blonde.
She’s biting her lip now, wide-eyed like a kicked puppy. Waiting for the nod. The green light. The permission.
I tilt my head, one hand still resting on the mixer.
“Not tonight.”
Her face twists. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
She huffs. Loud. Spins on her heel and storms off, shouting something about assholes. I let her go. Don’t even bother watching her leave.
Becausehehasn’t left.
Dagger.
Still lounging against the far wall like the smug bastard he is. Black leather, boots, and chains. That walking red flag aesthetic he wears like a fucking crown. His head’s tilted just enough to catch the best view of her. He’s not hiding the way he watches. Not even pretending.
Fucking prick.
I glare.
