But I wouldn’t change a thing about it. It was made for us, just as we were made for it—for each other. The thought almost makes me want to rethink everything, even as I know deep down I can’t. Nobody can change my mind. It's what's best for everyone, even if they won't see it at first. With time, they’ll adjust to this change, and eventually, my name and memory will fade away.
I take another long, slow hit, feeling the smoke weave its way through me, leaving a trail of soothing numbness behind. As the song plays on and the dance grows more intense, I finally feel a sense of peace enveloping me. I relax back into my seat, watching the girl I love showcase her gifts for a sea of people—though, deep down, I know it's really just for me.
The atmosphere in the club feels electric, pulsing along with the music as Whitney continues to captivate our attention. As the beat drops, I lose myself in her movements and can read her demeanor like a fucking book. It's as if she's pushing back against the weight of all our grief and struggles with each flaunting spin around the pole, each twist of her body. Even here, surrounded by a crowd, it feels like she’s stripping away layers not just of clothing but of the pain that we both carry.
But she can't strip away my pain. I can't even fucking do it.
I can't shake off the lingering sense of guilt. I know deep down, the fucking beast of self-loathing whispers lies to me, saying I don’t deserve this moment, this connection we still have. I want to be her rock, the one who makes her smile; instead, I feel more like an anchor weighing her down in these turbulent waters. Still, I watch, mesmerized by the raw beauty of her dance, feeling the flames of passion flare up in our hell.
“She’s something else, huh?” Raze says, his voice loud enough to cut through the haze of the room.
I nod, unable to form the words that weigh heavily on my tongue. I know he’s right. She is. She’s everything I should have never wanted and yet cannot stay away from.
Red shifts uncomfortably next to me, pulling me from the trance. I turn to him, finally seeing the shadow of what Carter’s death has left on his face. The mask can’t entirely hide the sorrow that seeps through.
“Are you good?” I ask, sensing a darkness behind his guarded demeanor.
“Yeah,” he grunts, but it’s not convincing; I know him well enough to recognize the mask he wears is far more than fabric—it’s denial.
I glance back at Whitney, and the tendrils of her strength pull me back into my own turmoil. Raze, Red, and I are bound by tragedy now. Carter was not just a partner to Red; he was a brother before all this chaos transformed our lives into a sequence of the darkest moments.
“Man,” Raze interjects, breaking the quiet, “we should keep better tabs on each other. We’re all fucked up right now.”
His words resonate within me, igniting flickers of urgency. We need each other now more than ever, but how do you hold someone up when you can barely stand yourself? The voices remind me every day how I let Whitney down. I didn't protecther. I haven't had Raze's back like I should, and I know he knows something’s going on, but with any luck, he won't find out until the time is right.
Whitney’s performance flows through the crowd like a stream of raw emotion, and for a split second, my worries become insignificant against the beauty of the art unfolding before me. She's always captivated people with her dancing; it was one of the few things she was passionate about growing up even when everything was going to shit for her—for us. As she finishes her dance, the audience erupts in cheers and applause, but my world falls silent as she locks eyes with me once again, her expression a mix of longing and hope. I can feel it—the weight of our struggle, our burdens, anchoring us together in this swirling chaos.
“Let’s get out of here.” I surprise myself with the words.
I don’t know where ‘here’ is, but I know I want to be anywhere but beneath these lights, surrounded by the ghosts of our pasts and the shadows of what we have lost.
Raze looks at me, gauging the heaviness in my tone. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say, determination edging into my voice as I begin to feel the effects of the drugs. “I could use a breath of fresh air while we wait for Whit.”
Red nods in agreement, and soon we’re weaving through the sea of bodies, the noise fading into a hum as we approach the club’s entrance. Each step I take away feels like shedding a layer of despair, a small act of defiance against it all. But it's not enough. It's never going to be enough, and I've accepted it.
As we step outside, the cold air rushes around us like a cleansing wave. I lean against the wall, the chill biting at my skin, grounding me in the moment. I pull a new blunt from my pocket, offering it to Raze as he takes a hit and passes it to Red, and I continue to smoke on the other one, feeling a numbing inmy lips from the drugs sprinkled in with the weed. I wanted it to be easier, so numbing myself was absolutely necessary.
“Motherfuckers,” Red grumbles through the smoke, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. “We’re a real mess, huh?”
“You think?” I smirk, exhaling long clouds of smoke towards the star-littered sky, wondering if there is a heaven or anything up there where you go when you die. I was never one to believe in that shit, but the closer I get, it's all that's been on my mind lately.
We stand in a loose circle, the tensions of the club replaced by the biting chill of winter air and a bond forged in loss. It isn’t complete, but it’s something—a small step towards facing the darkness that follows us.
“Can we not let this shit destroy us?” Raze pleads, silence following his sentiment. The weight of his uncertainty hangs in the air. “We have to find a way through the shitstorm.”
Inspired by his sincerity, I take a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs as I let the sentiment sink in. “We will,” I promise, meeting the gazes of my friends, hoping they can see the determination I’m struggling to cultivate. “We have to.” The words taste like bitterness on my tongue, lies burning my taste buds off.
No moment is too small when it comes to survival. And as I think of Whitney back inside, I realize it’s not just about living—it's about really living and taking control once more. As sad as it sounds, I don't think I'll ever get the chance to be in control of shit, especially the voices poisoning my mind. I'll never know what it feels like to really live because I gave up.
As I flick the remnants of the ash into the street, I exhale one last time, a mix of hope and dread swirling within me. I look back at the club, its neon lights flickering like a distant heartbeat, pulsing with life while I feel so detached from it.
"I just want to see Whitney," I say, turning back to face Raze and Red. The chill in the air pushes me to hug myself tighter, as if I could somehow hold that crushing weight off my chest.
“What do you think she’ll do next?” Red asks, still holding the haze of smoke in his lungs, his voice almost thoughtful as he watches the sky.
I shrug, glancing up to see a few stars breaking through the cloud cover. “No idea. She dances like there’s a fire inside her. Maybe it’s the same fire trying to burn her down.”
