I'm a Mess

The air in the club is suffocating.

The blonde's hands are still on me, moving in time with the music, her lips grazing my neck. I should be into it. I should let her pull me under again, let myself drown in the beat, in the tequila, in the heat of someone who isn't her.

But my stomach turns.

I feel Stefani's eyes like a physical weight, dragging down every movement, making my skin burn in the worst way. I can't shake the image of her standing there, jaw tight, fists clenched, watching me with that mix of anger and something else—something I don't want to name.

I pull away from the blonde, stepping back abruptly.

"Hey," she says, confused, reaching for my arm.

I shake my head, forcing a small smile. "I need to go."

I don't wait for her to respond. I push past the mass of bodies, past the flashing lights and the pulsating bass, toward the exit. My legs feel unsteady—too much coke, too much tequila, too much Stefani.

I step out into the night air, inhaling deep. The street is still alive, neon lights reflecting off the pavement, taxis rolling by, people laughing and stumbling between clubs. I keep walking.

I don't know where I'm going, but I know I need to be anywhere but here.

⸻

I find another club a few blocks down—smaller, darker, packed but not overwhelming. The music is different, less electronic, more sultry. I slip inside, ordering a whiskey neat this time, something to steady me.

That's when I see her.

Dark eyes, caramel skin, a slow, confident smile.

She's at the bar, sipping her own drink, watching the room with the kind of calm presence that makes you want to be near her. When our eyes meet, she raises a brow.

I move closer.

"Can I sit?" I ask, the words coming out in Spanish without me even thinking about it.

She tilts her head, amused. "Of course. You don't have to ask."

I slide onto the stool next to hers. She takes me in slowly, gaze lingering in a way that makes me feel like she's seeing something I don't even know I'm showing.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Valeria." Her voice is rich, warm. "And yours?"

"Lena."

She swirls the liquid in her glass. "You look like someone with a lot on their mind."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "More like in my stomach."

Her brow furrows. "Are you feeling sick?"

I exhale, tapping my fingers against my glass. "I'm a fucking mess." I say it too bluntly, too honestly, but I don't have the energy to filter myself.

Valeria watches me for a moment, then gives me a small, understanding smile. "You don't look like a mess."

"Well, I am."

She leans on the bar, studying me. "Want to talk about it?"

I glance at my drink, at the way the ice is melting into the amber liquid. "I don't know."

Valeria doesn't press. She just nods, finishing the last sip of her drink before standing. "Come on," she says, motioning for me to follow.

I hesitate, then push off the stool. We step outside together, the night air crisp against my flushed skin.

"I'll take you home," she says simply.

I blink at her. "Why?"

She smirks. "Because I don't think you should be alone."

⸻

We walk back toward my hotel, my arm slung over her shoulder as I stumble slightly, the night catching up with me. I don't know why I feel lighter around her. Maybe it's because she doesn't know me. Because she doesn't look at me like I owe her something.

Maybe it's just the whiskey.

We reach the hotel doors when I hear voices behind me.

"Go, Lena!"

I blink, turning my head sluggishly. Freddie, Tara, and a few others are a few feet away, all grinning.

Valeria laughs, shaking her head. "I'm just getting her home safe. Maybe another night."

I hear it before I see her.

A low, irritated grumble.

"Yeah, right."

The sound of a door slamming.

Even through the haze in my brain, I feel it.

I don't turn around. I can't. I just let Valeria guide me inside, past the lobby, into the elevator. She presses the button for my floor. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a second.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly.

I nod, but I don't think I mean it.

⸻

Inside my room, I collapse onto the couch, kicking off my shoes. Valeria sits on the floor beside me, resting her back against the armrest.

I stare at the ceiling. "Things need to be casual." The words spill out, slurred at the edges.

Valeria hums. "And why aren't they?"

I rub my eyes. "Because I can't stop thinking about it."

She doesn't ask what it is. She just lets me ramble, lets me say things I barely understand myself.

"I need to stay focused," I murmur, voice thick with exhaustion. "I can't get caught up. I can't."

Valeria reaches up, smoothing my hair back gently. "Then rest."

I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. I don't even realize when my body starts to relax, when my breathing slows.

Valeria stays beside me, resting on the floor, close but not intruding.

For the first time tonight, I don't feel like I'm being watched.

I don't feel like I need to run.

I just let the exhaustion take me under