Page 9 of The Second Sight
Brooklyn glanced in the direction I’d been staring. “Someone fine enough to fuck?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, the truth of it settling uncomfortably in my stomach. “Just someone.” Now I was thinking I imagined him.
“Well, forget them,” she said, grabbing both my hands. “It’s your birthday, and this is your song!”
The DJ had switched to one of my favorite Glorilla songs, and I hadn’t even noticed. Brooklyn was right. This night was about celebrating, not obsessing over strange men with creepy sapphire eyes. I smiled and let myself be pulled back into the rhythm.
Even as I danced, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the darkness, those pale eyes were still watching me. That man was real, and if he was watching, I was going to give him a show.
After what felt like hours of dancing, my throat was dry, and my legs wobbled beneath me. Brooklyn must have noticed because she grabbed my elbow, steering me toward the bar with the determination of someone who’d appointed herself my official birthday guardian.
The crowd reluctantly parted as we pushed our way through. The bodies pressing together formed a narrow pathway that led us from the dance floor. My skin was slick with sweat, my hair a wild mess, but I felt more alive than I had in months. Maybe years.
“Water first,” Brooklyn shouted over the music as we finally reached the bar. She muscled her way between two guys in button-downs, creating just enough space for me to squeeze in beside her. The bartender was a man with electric purple hair and tattoos. He raised his eyebrows at us in silent question.
“Two waters and whatever she wants,” Brooklyn said, pointing at me. “Today is her twenty-first birthday.”
The bartender’s expression softened into a knowing smile. “Prove it.”
I couldn’t believe he was looking at me or even talking to me. I raised my little purse and placed it on the bar top. I quickly fished my ID out and turned it toward the bartender. “June seventh.” I said, although I was sure he knew what day it was.
“First legal drink is on the house, birthday girl. What’ll it be?”
I hesitated, overwhelmed by the sudden pressure of the decision. What did a twenty-one-year-old order? The question formed and dissolved in my mind, another reminder of her absence that I quickly pushed away.
“Something sweet,” I finally said. “Surprise me.”
“Marco loves to surprise.” He grinned.
The bartender nodded and turned away, his hands moving with practiced efficiency over bottles and mixers. Brooklyn leaned in close to my ear.
“Drink as much as you want, birthday girl. I’m going to make sure you get home safe.” She bumped my shoulder. “One night of being completely irresponsible won’t kill you. Get so litty you show a drunk man your muthafuckin’ titties.” She sang.
I smiled, grateful for her permission to let go. But my titties were going to stay inside the fabric of this cheap-ass green mini dress that was made in China. Brooklyn had been my safety net since sixth grade, the one person who knew all my secrets, well, most of them anyway. She knew about the dreams but not about the golden blade or the man called Desmond. Some things were too bizarre to share, even with your best friend.
The bartender returned with two bottles of water and a tall, vibrant pink concoction topped with a slice of pineapple and a tiny paper umbrella. “Sex on the Beach,” he announced, sliding the colorful drink toward me. “It's sweet, just for you, sweetheart, but it’ll still knock you on your ass if you’re not careful.”
I took a tentative sip, trying to forget he called me sweetheart. My mother called me that. I literally hatedthat word. The fruity sweetness hit first, followed by the unmistakable burn of alcohol sliding down my throat. I coughed, caught off guard by the strength beneath the sugary disguise.
“Good?” Brooklyn asked, already knowing the answer from my expression.
“Let me take another sip,” I replied, taking another swig. This time I was ready for the burn. “Girl, it’s like drinking candy that fights back.”
Brooklyn laughed, her gruff voice carrying even over the pounding music. “Your drink got hands. Girl, you crazy.” She raised her water bottle. “To twenty-one. May it be better than twenty.”
“Anything is better than twenty,” I said, and clinked my cocktail glass against her simple water bottle.
Twenty had been a year of nightmares, literally. The dreams about my mother had intensified, becoming more vivid, and more disturbing. Dad’s depression had deepened. I’d switched majors twice. I was lost. Or at least it felt that way. Standing here with pink alcohol in a plastic cup warming my insides, and Brooklyn’s steady presence beside me, twenty-one suddenly seemed full of possibilities.
Chapter
Four
KASI
The first drink disappeared faster than I expected. The second was something blue with vodka in it, and it went down even easier. By the third cocktail, a warmth had spread throughout my body, loosening my limbs and softening the edges of my thoughts. Brooklyn nursed a single gin and tonic, watching me with amused concern as I grew increasingly animated, talking loudly about everything and nothing.
“You know what’s weird?” I said, gesturing with my fourth drink, something orange and dangerously strong. “I always thought my mama would take me out for my first legal drink. She promised when I was like twelve. Said she wanted to show me what to order.” I took another gulp, barely registering the burn anymore. “Guess she had other plans, huh?”
