When I think of clubbing, I think of noise and mess and pain. Not physical pain, of course, although I've had my fair share of knocks on the dancefloor, but the kind of pain that stems from within. You know, the type of pain that only someone like Spencer can cause. And yeah, maybe a few months ago, I'd think of noise and mess and crying girls in the bathroom, but the moment he kissed her, their betrayal getting lost in the haze of drunken regret, clubbing changed.

Suddenly it wasn't something to look forward to, but something to avoid, something to abhor. And even though Paula thinks it'll fix everything, from my raging frown right down to my fractured heart, I know it won't. I know it can't because if it could, I'd be fixed already.

How do I know this?

Well, don't tell Paula, but Jess and I did our fair share of clubbing back in January when Spencer and I first broke up.

Yes, there was a first breakup. It was uneventful, lasted all of two weeks, and by the time reality set in, he was apologising, and I forgave him. Which, now I think about it, is perhaps the most stupid thing I've ever done. It's not like he cheated on me the first time, but he almost did, and I took him back.

Crap, what kind of precedent must that have set?

Cheat on Lizzie. It's fine; she won't care.

I'm not blaming myself. I know it seems like I am, but I'm not. It's just that maybe I made it too easy.

Gosh, this is not what I need.

Groaning, I roll out of bed and trudge towards Paula's room. She's not in there. But, if I strain a little, I can hear tinny melodies drifting from outside. I shuffle towards the living room and out the French doors. She's with Henry and Isaac. The three of them are laughing, swaying along to the music carelessly. Happily. The complete opposite of me.

I rub my eyes and perch on the edge of Paula's lounger. She wriggles up to give me more space, but I don't move into it.

"You alright, Lizzie?" She reaches out and runs a hand down my arm. "You seem a little out of it."

"I'm fine." A smile creeps onto my face. It tweaks the corners of my lips and crinkles the dip beside my eye.

"You sure?" Paula asks.

"Of course. So, what's the plan for tonight?"

"I told Mum we'd be gone for around ten," Henry says. "But we could always leave a little earlier. Get a few drinks or something."

"When's curfew?" I ask.

Henry and Paula descend into laughter. My eyes narrow and flick between them. "What? Is there not a curfew?"

"Why would there be a curfew?" they ask.

"Because Mum loves a curfew. It's why I always stay with Jess whenever I go out." Her parents are rarely around to know when we get back.

"You'll be with us, Lizzie," Henry says. "No curfew needed."

"Well, on that note, I'm going to have a nap." I jump to my feet, turning only to tell Paula to call me when she wants to get ready. I catch the worry that settles in her and Henry's eyes, but I ignore it and head for the house. It's easier to sleep the day away. I'll need the rest if I'm expected to survive tonight.

~*~

It's dark when Paula comes to get me. I spent the day hidden under my duvet, inhaling a kilo of chocolate while Vampire Diaries played in the background. But now it's time to stop wallowing and get up. Now it's time to be happy. Whatever that means.

"Are you ready?" she asks, stealing the last square of chocolate from the flimsy golden foil.

"No." I burrow under my duvet.

"Well, too bad." She rips the duvet back and grabs my limp arms to haul me out of bed. "You've got to get up, Lizzie," she says, dragging me to the bathroom. "You can't let him win."

"It's a bit late for that," I mutter, righting myself and finishing the last few steps without the weight of her arms propping me up.

"It's never too late."

I'm left alone in the bathroom. My reflection stares back at me. Only the girl in the mirror looks hollow. It's like anything of worth has been scooped out, leaving behind a dry, brittle, ugly carcass.

Sighing, I rub a hand across my face and turn away from the depressing image. I guess the only good thing is that it's nothing makeup and a good outfit can't fix. The horrible bags and sallow skin, I mean. The lack of innards might never recover, but at this point, what can I do but pretend?

Once I'm squeaky clean, a slither of life returning to my being, I shuffle over to Paula's room and lean against the doorframe. She wraps a hand around my wrist. A few dresses line her bed.

"Wear whatever you want," she says, almost as if it's a treat. And maybe it would be under different circumstances. Paula is very protective of her clothes, after all. But there are bigger things than this. Bigger things than playing dress up in my older, prettier sister's clothes.

"No dresses," I say, turning from the bed.

"Then what are you going to wear?" She raises a brow and places her hands on her hips. She looks scarily like Mum, even for her. All she needs is the shrill voice, and her transformation will be complete.

"I don't know," I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "I just know that I'm not wearing a dress."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because? For fuck's sake, Elizabeth, just pick a bloody dress."

I take a sharp breath, my hands shaking as a storm of insults form. The best collect at the tip of my tongue, but rather than let rip, I swallow them down and stalk towards her bed.

My hand grazes against the least offensive item. It's black, with ample fabric and thin spaghetti straps. Being as that it's this or a sparkly purple number nobody should be seen in, I grab it, the fabric bunching in my hands, and show Paula.

"Thank you." She throws her hands in the air. "Was that so hard?"

The words form again, but something tells me to push them aside. Sure, she's particularly annoying tonight, but in her own twisted way, she thinks she's helping, and as much as I want her to leave me alone, I can't hate her for trying. It's the thought that counts.

I take the dress back to my room and chuck it onto my bed. Paula's laid out my makeup in front of my mirror, placing the old, foundation-stained bag beside my hair products. Dropping to the ground, I sit cross-legged and force myself to meet my reflection again—that tear-streaked, dull, depressing reflection.

"I look like shit," I mutter to myself, the declaration pushing me to grab my primer and write the wrongs scrawled across my skin.

Who knows, maybe clubbing is the remedy this time.

~*~

Paula takes too long. Longer than anticipated, anyway. By the time she finishes, we're half an hour past Henry's original ten o'clock marker, leaving me sober and slightly annoyed. We meet Henry and Isaac out in the drive. They're leaning against a waiting taxi. The driver offers us a friendly good evening as we pile in.

Henry rattles off an address from the front seat before launching into conversation with the driver, leaving Paula, Isaac and me silent in the back. Somehow, I've ended up squashed in the middle. My left thigh is pressed up against Issac's jean-clad leg, and his pinkie finger is millimetres away from brushing against my slightly sticky skin. I try to wriggle aside, but Paula asks me to budge over, and I'm back in my original position. Only this time, his finger glides across me. We spring apart, and he bangs his elbow against the car door as a spluttered apology tumbles out of his lips

"It's okay." My murmured acceptance surprises even me, and my eyes widen as I focus my gaze ahead and stare out into the abyss. The car's headlights provide a short golden path through the darkness, but I turn from it, casting my eyes towards the shadowy roadside.

It feels like a lifetime, and my body numbs as the journey lags, but eventually, the darkness disappears, and the multicoloured lights of the strip brings us back to civilisation. I break my focus and sneak a glance towards my left. My eyes meet Isaac's. I tear them away.

Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop. Paula tugs me out. I tumble a little behind her and stub my toe on the curb so hard I lose my balance and topple over. I'm entirely ready for the earth-shattering humiliation that comes with face-planting concrete. That is until a pair of arms slink around my waist. Isaac twirls me smoothly and brings me into his chest, our eyes meeting, and a smile, however small, playing on the corners of his lips.

Now, I know what you're thinking. He saved me. He actually saved me. I can't be angry if he saved me. But if you think that, then you don't know me at all. I would've much rather ate pavement than face him.

Why?

Because now I owe him, and that will dangle over my head for the rest of the night. Whether it's a drink, a smile, or, God forbid, a kind word, I owe him, and if I want to reclaim a piece of my pride, I have to pay my debt in full.

Why couldn't he just let me fall?

Life would've been so much easier if he let me fall.

Paula grabs my hand and pulls me out of his embrace. Her arm replaces his around my waist, and her light giggle scatters my thoughts, forcing me to meet her teasing grin. "That was sweet of him," she whispers as we join the short queue outside the largest club on the strip.

"I don't know about that," I mumble, glaring at my stupid Judas feet.

"Don't know about what?" Henry asks.

"About whether I'll be drinking tonight," I say, elbowing Paula. The last thing I need is a sibling breakdown of the ordeal right in front of Isaac.

"You know how I get when I drink too much."

Henry snorts. I slap his arm.

"I'm not that bad," I mutter. "Maybe hungover me is but drunk me isn't. It's only that she leads to hungover me so." My voice trails off, and I shrug.

"I prefer drunk you," Paula says. "At least she's up for a bit of fun."

"Oh, and sober me isn't?"

Before either of my siblings can say anything, their eyes flicking between one another, Isaac jumps in and tells us to move ahead. "We're holding up the line," he says, a charming smile lighting up his features as he ushers us forward.

Just before we reach the front of the queue, I catch Paula's eye. Her lip quirks up as if to say sorry. I shrug in acceptance, my hand reaching for hers. "I just want you to be happy," she whispers.

But before I can answer, lie and insist I'm fine, the security guard asks for ID.

Happy.

Do I even know what that is?

Ha, kidding, of course I do.

It's just not normal to be happy after a breakup. You need a mourning period. Time to wallow, time to figure out what you want before committing to being happy again.

But if it'll get Paula off my back...

Okay, so tonight I'm going to be happy. Or at least I'm going to try and appear to be.

It'll be easy. All I need to do is smile and dance and drink and laugh. There can't be any snide comments, especially not to Isaac. In fact, I can repay him.

That's it. I'll get rid of that emotional debt and shove Paula off my back all in one go. Hopefully, the moment she believes it, sees it, and truly trusts that I'm having the time of my life, I'll get off scot-free. And right about now, there's nothing in this world I want more.

So when we finally enter the club, Paula's hand in mine, I muster a smile and lean in. "Thanks," I shout over the blaring bass. "I really needed this."

She wraps an arm around me. "You're welcome. Now promise me that you'll actually try to have fun."

"Oh, I'll do more than try." I drag her into the sea of people, Henry and Isaac hot on our heels, and manoeuvre my way to the bar.

There's no queue. I crash against the slick curved surface and order a round of shots from the first bartender I see. He makes quick work of it, and before I know it, I'm throwing my head back. A familiar burning sensation tingles down my throat as I shake my head and squeal. "God, I hate vodka!"

Isaac leans down, his lips millimetres from my ear, and suggests tequila. I nod, a slight shiver running down my spine. He places his large hands on my waist and moves me out the way. The shiver stops halfway down my back, and a bucket of icy water drenches me as I remember exactly who he is. Or rather, who I am. And then I remember the fall.

On any other occasion, I'd tell him to fuck off, but I owe him, so I don't.

He hands me a tequila shot. The amber liquid dances in the glasses as we raise them. My eyes bore into his, and we throw our heads back. He winces, rubbing the back of his neck, a smile toying on the corners of his mouth. A sigh manages to escape, flitting across and washing over me. His lips part, almost as if he's about to say something, but before he can, my hand is in Paula's. She drags me onto the dancefloor, twirling me until the last thing I remember is the feel of my hand in hers.

"What's going on with you two?" She pulls me close, shouting over the pulsing beat.

I roll my eyes and back away. "What two?" I ask.

"You and Isaac!"

"Nothing." It's my turn to spin her, but she twirls back and quirks and insisting brow.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," she says.

"Well, that seems like a you problem, Paula, so."

It's her turn to roll her eyes. I only laugh, throwing my arms over her shoulder and pull her close. "Thank you," I whisper, my lips pressed against her ear. "Honestly."

"It's the alcohol talking."

"No." I shake my head, my curls brushing against her cheek. "It's the truth."

It's a little while before I remember the others. I glance towards the bar, searching for them. It's not that we need them to have a good night, only that we need them to get home, and since they won't be keeping tabs on us, I might as well try and keep some on them. That and I might just need a way out from Paula's drunken delusions.

As I turn my gaze from the bar, scanning the fringes of the room, I finally spot them. They're in a dark corner with two girls. They're all laughing at something Henry said. At least everyone but Isaac is. While the girls throw their heads back and Henry basks in their attention, Isaac's eyes are on the leggy blonde.

I find myself stepping off the dancefloor to stare. It's a typical scene from any club. Two beautiful girls, both with model potential, chatting away with two equally good-looking guys. The tension fizzles with each glance, touch, caress. Honestly, if something doesn't go down, it'll be a miracle.

"I got him so wrong," Paula says, her head resting on my shoulder as she looks on at them.

"What do you mean?" I ask just as Isaac turns. He smiles, but I spin on my heel before the blonde notices and force Paula back onto the dancefloor.

"I just mean that I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?"

She shakes her head and laughs. "Gosh, Lizzie, you wouldn't know your own feelings if they slapped you in your face, let alone anyone else's."

She doesn't continue the conversation, doesn't let me process things, and my promise to myself to be happy means I throw myself at the mercy of the beat. My hands fly into the air, and my hips swing from side to side, the sultry melody guiding me.

I feel a pair of hands rest on my waist. The owner's body moves in sync with mine, and my head falls back against his chest as I sigh.

I know this won't fix everything.

I know I won't wake up feeling happy, relieved, at peace.

But for a moment, I'm in a state of pure bliss. 

***

Why do you think Paula was apologising?

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