Lori

The bass pounds so hard I can feel it in my bones.

This is my scene—dark corners, wild energy, the kind of night that feels like anything could happen.

The music takes over, drowning out everything else. People crowd around me, moving and shifting, their faces lit by the weird blue-purple club lights.

I'm alive right now, totally electric.

Laughter breaks through the music. Glasses clink somewhere behind me, another random sound in this crazy moment.

One more beat drops, and the crowd surges—we're all connected, one massive heartbeat, one spark away from totally losing it.

This is the kind of night that makes you feel invincible in a good way, like nothing in the world could touch you.

The woman I’ve been dancing with, Cathy—I think that’s her name—leans closer, her breath warm against my ear as she suggests we leave together.

I pause, considering it.

It’s been a while since I’ve had this kind of offer, and there’s really no reason to say no.

Cathy is gorgeous, tall and confident. She’s exactly the type I usually go for—fun for a night, no strings attached.

But before I can say yes, my gaze drifts to the bar. Marcel’s still there, perched on a stool, her fingers wrapped around a glass that’s more ice than drink now.

She’s been sitting there for most of the night, watching me, though she probably doesn’t think I’ve noticed her. But I have. I always will in a room full of hundreds of people.

Marcel doesn’t know how to hide her emotions very well—not from me, anyway. Even now, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her lips press together every time I laugh a little too loudly or lean a little too close to Cathy.

Something tells me this must be unpleasant to watch but I don't believe it. I can't.

“Wait here,” I tell Cathy, offering her a polite smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Cathy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. She leans against the bar, her eyes scanning the room like she already knows she has options if I don’t come back.

I do have options too.

I weave my way through the crowd, dodging flailing arms and half-empty drinks, until I’m standing in front of Marcel.

“Hey,” I say, sliding onto the stool next to her. “Having fun?”

Marcel looks up at me, her eyes slightly unfocused, like she’s caught somewhere between tipsy and sober and in a haze.

She takes a second too long to answer, and I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if she’s just annoyed with me.

“Yeah,” she says finally, though her voice doesn’t carry much conviction. “Loads of it.”

Her fingers tap against her glass, a nervous little rhythm that makes me wonder what’s really going on in her head.

“You sure?” I press, leaning in closer. “Because you look like you’re about two seconds away from breaking out into an existential crisis.”

That earns me a small smile, but it doesn’t last long enough to make me proud.

“I’m fine, Lori,” she says, her tone a little sharper now. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

We fall into a brief silence, the noise of the bar occupying the space between us. I glance over my shoulder at Cathy, who’s still waiting, her patience probably wearing thin.

“Look,” I say, turning back to Marcel. “I’m heading out.”

Her eyebrows lift, just slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Cathy and I are going back to her place.”

There’s a flicker of something in her expression, but it’s gone before I can figure out what it is or means. Marcel just nods, her face unreadable.

She swallows.

“Okay,” she says simply, taking another sip of her drink.

For some reason, her reaction unsettles me.

I was expecting... I don’t know. Something.

A snarky comment, maybe, or a disapproving look. But this calm, indifferent Marcel? It throws me off balance.

“Call me when you get home,” I say, my voice turning without my will.

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Call me,” I repeat. “When you get home. Just so I know you’re safe.”

She stares at me for a moment, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. Then she nods again, her gaze dropping back to her drink.

“Sure,” she says quietly.

It’s not exactly the response I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.

“Good,” I say, standing up. “Don’t drink too much, okay? I don’t want to have to haul your ass out of here later.”

That gets a small laugh out of her, and it feels like a win, even if it’s a small one.

As I walk away, I feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look back. Cathy’s waiting, and I’m not about to let her think I’ve lost interest.

“Ready?” Cathy asks when I reach her, her lips curving into a slow smile.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to focus on her and not the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We leave the bar together, stepping into the cool night air. Cathy loops her arm through mine, and I let her, even though it feels... off. Like I’m going through the motions without actually being present.

As we walk down the street, Cathy chatters about something—I’m not really paying attention. My mind keeps drifting back to Marcel, sitting alone at the bar.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. I shouldn’t be thinking about Marcel right now. I should be focusing on Cathy, on what’s waiting for me at her place.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve left something important.

And I don't feel like getting laid anymore.