Chasing Heat

The music pulses under my skin, low and thick like blood pounding in my ears. Lights scatter across the club in disjointed waves—blue, violet, pink. I'm pressed up against Felix on the dancefloor, surrounded by the half-empty club crowd. Tuesday night. Who comes to a club on a Tuesday?

Me. I do. When everything inside me is caving in, I put on Julia's tight black dress, let her zip it up with trembling hands as if I'm about to commit crime, and I climb onto the passenger seat of Felix's car like I have no past, no weight, no pain.

Now, my hands are on his shoulders. His fingers linger low on my back, dipping just beneath the hem of his jacket that still swallows my frame. The bass shakes the floor beneath our feet, and we move with it, grinding too close for what we usually are. Or maybe what we usually pretend to be.