It’s always almost over.
---
That night, there’s another party. There’s always another party.
I tell myself I’m just going for a drink, just to be seen, just to remind everyone I’m still here.
But when I walk in, the first thing I see is Ace.
His hand rests on the small of Sierra’s back, his head bent to whisper something in her ear. She laughs, tilting her face up toward his, eyes shining.
Something inside me cracks.
“Brit!” a voice calls. “Come have a drink!”
I let myself be pulled in, another glass pressed into my hand, another shot, another laugh, another dance.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
Except I’m not.
---
Hours later, I’m curled on the bathroom floor again, cheek pressed to the cold tile, chest heaving. My skin feels clammy, sweat dripping down my back.
I can’t remember the last time I ate.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted to eat.
The door swings open suddenly.
“Brit? Jesus.” Jasper’s voice is sharp, panicked.
I blink up at him, vision swimming. His face blurs, sharpens, blurs again.
“Brit, stay with me — Brit, look at me—”
“Go back to Janice,” I mumble.
His face twists. “Brit, please—”
“Go!” I sob, curling tighter.
And then everything goes black.
---
The hospital smells like antiseptic and disappointment.
When I wake, the first thing I see is the sterile white ceiling, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, the IV in my arm.
The second thing I see is Jasper.
He’s sitting in the corner, head in his hands, shoulders hunched.
“Jas,” I whisper.
