Page 115 of Riot Act
I quit gnawing on my straw and shove it back into my margarita. “It doesn’t?”
“No. I mean…there’s no one sitting there right now.”
“That you cansee.”
“What?” Bless his little cotton socks, he looks so confused.
“There’s no one sitting there right nowthat you can see. My grandmother was my best friend. I take her with me everywhere now. She’s non-corporeal, but in today’s age that’s not really an issue. Unless…” I jerk back, placing a shocked hand on my chest. “Wait. You’re not prejudice against thedead, are you?”
“Uhhh…” He looks around, first left and then right, but whoever he’s looking for (maybe my fake dead grandma?) is nowhere to be seen. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. Can you actually move a little to the left? Please? Yeah, that’s right. You’re blocking her view. She likes to watch people dance. It’s one of her things.”
“Okay. You’re fucking with me.” He sounds a little irritated now. Also, a little drunk, which I’ve only just noticed. Not ideal. Drunk people’s brains work slower than those of sober people. “It’s not nice to mess with people, dude.”
“I’m not your dude. Look, can you please just go? I’m having a pretty shitty night, and you’re upsetting Grandma.”
“Will you at least let me buy you a drink?”
Wow. He really isn’t getting the picture. Throwing myself back into my seat, I let out a frustrated, “Urgh! No! No, thank you. I don’t want you to buy me a drink!”
“Huh.” The guy hawks like he might spit. “No wonder you’re sitting by yourself. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a ragingbitch?”
He hurls this insult like it might be the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me. Like drunk guys haven’t been calling the girls who reject them bitches since the dawn of time. Perhaps flat-out laughing at him isn’t the best response I can muster, but it’s all this motherfucker is getting.
I drain my margarita and grab another drink, returning to the same spot on the sunken couch. From time to time, I catch sight of Wren and Elodie on the dance floor, their bodies swaying and moving in unison.
An hour passes. I decide to cut out the middleman and ditch the margarita mix, opting for straight tequila instead. When I get up to go to the bathroom, the warehouse pitches, seesawing wildly, and the alcohol hits me all at once.
Whoa ho ho! Jesus. I amdrunk.
It’s a weird kind of drunk, though. I’m body drunk. My heart pumps like a piston, keeping beat with the thumping music, and my arms and legs feel numb. But my head feels oddly clear. My thoughts flow smoothly. Sharp. I observe myself, weaving to the women’s restrooms, bumping my hips on the corners of tables and tripping over my own feet, with a detached, indifferent amusement. Man, it’s been a while since I’ve been this tipsy. A grim truth settles over me, as I shove the bathroom door open too hard, sending it crashing into the wall: I am going to be hungover as fuck tomorrow.
Nothing to be done about it now. Peering into the streaked, filthy mirror above the sinks, I glower at the girl with the tousled red hair staring back at me, irritated as fuck with her.
Hey eyeliner’s smudged. Her cheeks are flushed red, and her pupils are twin black holes, unfocused and massive.
“This is all your fault, y’know?” I tell her. “You’re smarter than this. You should have shut this down a long time ago.”
She blinks slowly, too wasted to come up with a fitting response. The dress Elodie loaned me hugs my form tightly. The sheer panel at the front hints at my stomach and hips. It’s very short, the fabric grazing the tops of my thighs. It’s a far cry from what I would have chosen to wear tonight, had I packed knowing we’d be going out, but I’ll admit that it does look good.Ilook good. The bangles at my wrists, hiding my scars, clatter together as I sweep my hair back from my forehead, puffing out my cheeks. “You’re fucking great, Presley. Fucking great. Really hot, too. He’smadfor not wanting you—”
A stall door behind me swings open, and a tall girl with flawless brown skin and long braids steps out, snapping open her purse. In a black body suit and sky-high heels, she’s absolutely stunning. “Nowthat’sthe fucking truth,” she says, looking me up and down. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Tell me you’re not about to cry over some dumbass boy.Please. I cannot handle another beautiful girl crying in a nightclub bathroom over a guy who doesn’t deserve her.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna cry.” I laugh shakily, but when I flick my gaze back to my reflection, I see how wet and shiny my eyes are and realize that I just lied to a perfect stranger. “Oh fuck. Iam, aren’t I?”
The girl chuckles under her breath as she stands next to me, rooting through her purse. “Whatever he’s done…ornotdone,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. You’re in charge of your happiness. You decide what fills you with joy or what makes your heart hurt. You give him power when you let his actions cause you pain.”
Damn. She’s right. “He’s not just some guy, though.” God, admitting this out loud is so tragic and depressing. “He’stheguy. The only guy. And…he’sawful.” I laugh again, shaking my head, trying to paint a smile on my face, but I must look pretty terrible, because the girl steps in, hugging me hard.
“No. Nuh-uh.” Pulling back, she strokes a hand over my hair. “What did I say? No crying. Especially if he’s awful. He is the dirt beneath your feet, my friend. Even if heisthe one. Best thing you can do is go out there with your head held high. Find some smoking hot dude to dance with and forget about him for an hour or two. Hiding in here isn’t gonna help.”
“I know. I just—” I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “God, I should probably fix my eyeliner. I’m a fucking mess.”
“No, you’re not.” She points at my reflection in the filthy mirror. “Tell me that shit doesn’t look sexy,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Smokey eyes will bring a dude to his knees every time. Throw your shoulders back and walk out of here with confidence.”
She reapplies her lip gloss and goes, wishing me luck while at the same time telling me that I don’t need it. I exit the restroom, chanting to myself on repeat:I don’t need luck. I’m confident. I’m beautiful. I don’t need Pax’s approval. I could have any guy here if I wanted.
I’m ready to face him again now. I—
