Page 127 of My Heart Still Beats

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I grab hold of the counter and look again.

Back to normal, thank God, but my head is swimming. I don’t feel like me at all.

Until I do.

In fact, I feel more like me than I have in a long time, maybe ever. I’m damned giddy, and I can’t wait to get back on the dance floor. I wash my hands quickly and don’t bother checking my makeup because I don’t care. I just want to dance.

I leave the bathroom and force myself through the crowd and back on the dance floor, grabbing the hand of the first man I see.

“Excuse me!” A woman grabs the man’s hand back. “He’s with me.”

I should apologize, but I don’t. The guy I was dancing with previously—I never got his name—grabs me and twirls me into an intricate salsa dance step that I easily follow.

And I dance.

Soon it’s just me on the floor, surrounded by bright moving lights. Some of the lights have eyes and some have noses. Some actually try to talk to me, but I ignore them.

And I dance.

I dance and dance and dance and dance.

One of the lights is talking to me. It’s a red light, but I don’t understand the words. They’re just flashes as I dance.

I dance and dance and dance and dance.

Fewer lights, then.

Fewer still.

The red light is next to me. We’re moving. But I’m not dancing.

I’m in a bed.

But not my bed.

…

“Tessa, thank God!”

My head hurts, like someone’s driving a knife into my brain. Where the hell am I?

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, for the love of God. Stop shouting, Betsy.”

A sighwhooshesfrom Betsy.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my bedroom.”

I look around. The sun is streaming through the window and forces my eyes shut. Yeah, this is Betsy’s place. But why am I here? And how did I get here?

“You were really fucked up last night, Tessa.” Her voice wavers.

Last night. Garrett. Betsy. The club. The margaritas. The bartender.

And the ecstasy.

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