Taylor's POV

My body seems to be running on pure flight mode. My feet take me to the living room, far away from Bella, and I can't decide whether the feeling in my stomach is from horrible guilt or churning bile. Maybe both.

I stop in front of the couch, hugging my body. A dull weight settles in my gut, threatening to pull me down to Lyra's cream coloured carpet. Bella's form keeps flashing in my mind — her hunched body, the broken ache in her voice. Ugh. My stomach hurts.

Tonight was all about Lyra — I shouldn't have made it about me. I shouldn't have rushed this whole coming out thing. Why did I think this was a good idea? Now my secret is out, and I broke the heart of one of my best friends. Great job, Taylor.

Soft cushions squish on either side of me; I realise I've sat down on the couch. My brain is everywhere — my eyes keep flicking around the room, my thoughts impulsively jumping from sentence to sentence. I really hurt Bella. I made her feel like crap.

Something throbs in my throat, and I almost get up and go back to the room. My feet want to take me back to Bella to apologise, but apologise for what? I'm gay, and I love Darko. I don't like her. I said the truth. Maybe I could apologise for the bluntness, but what would that solve? Would it actually fix anything, or just be a salve so I feel better?

Clutching my head in my hands, I hunch forward, tangling my fingers in my hair as I dig my elbows into the tops of my knees.

No. I did the right thing. It's better now that Bella knows I have no feelings for her. Who knows — she could have been pining after me this whole time, like how I have with Darko. God, I hope that's not the case.

If I did the right thing, why do I still feel like shit? Am I a terrible friend for doing that to Bella? I can already picture it — she's locked herself in that bedroom, curled up on the bed, sobbing her lungs out onto Lyra's guestroom bedsheets. Alone. Miserable. Heartbroken.

I choke back a sob. No. No. I can't cry. There are people near me. They might see. They might pry. They might figure out what happened. One person knowing about me is enough.

Taking my glasses off, I run my palm over my face. I wipe back a few stray tears and lean back on the couch, shutting my eyes and taking in a few deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Okay. The pit in my gut hasn't filled up, but at least the tears are gone.

I stand up. As I'm about to figure out what to do next, I spy something sitting on the kitchen counter. The vodka bottle from before — one third of it is left, and nobody is standing near it.

Before, I was on cloud nine. Maybe if I drink again now, I'll feel happier again.

As I make my way to the bottle, I convince myself that's how alcohol works, despite thoughts of Mum filling my head. Twisting the top off, I pour it into a nearby cup and top it up with the first drink I see—orange juice—and drink half of the concoction. The burning sensation is both painful and comforting.

Something in me stops me from drinking the rest, so I put the bottle in Lyra's bin, and look out toward the rest of her house. The party has definitely died down. A small handful of people are lingering on the dancefloor. A romantic song is playing, and everyone has coupled off, swaying to the beat of the song. The strobe lights have been altered, filling the room with a dark amber-cherry tinge instead of the flickering tricolours.

A gay couple dances quietly by themselves in the far corner, and I sigh to myself, resting my head in my hand, elbow propped on the kitchen bench. I wish I could dance with Darko like them.

Wait. Darko. The band aid on his face. The frozen peas. He looked like he got into a bad fight. Where is he?

Taking a few steps, I feel the room tilt. My vision blurs, and I have to grip the side of the bench to prevent myself from falling over. My stomach is both an oven and the blender, and I lean over the kitchen sink in just the nick of time. The disgusting liquid tears at my throat, the bitterness burning my tongue. The last thing I see before I hit the ground is the face of a very concerned Lyra.

#

"Tay? Tay! Wake up!"

The sound of clicking fingers near my ear makes my eyelids shoot open. I rise, before immediately lying back down, feeling bile rise in my throat. Lyra pats my hand.

"What happened?"

"I think you blacked out for a few moments. You hit the ground really hard. I was just about to talk to you when you collapsed behind the counter. Are you okay? You're not acting like yourself."

Shaking my head, I slowly rise again, propping myself up on my elbow. Lyra's nose twitched. She peered into the sink and yelped, before cranking the tap on. "Gross, Taylor!"

Embarrased, I turn away from her, my arms wrapping around me. Feeling dizzy again, I sink to the ground, resting up against Lyra's pantry door. "S-sorry."

She sighs to herself, before turning the tap off. "It's gone now. Ugh, tonight is a disaster."

Sitting next to me with a sigh, she jumps on her phone and straight away frowns. Despite the slurry-ness in my voice, I manage to say, "what's gone wrong?"

Lyra looks towards the backyard, frowning. "It's going to take a miracle to save my campaign. Trent and Duncan showed up, and they ended up getting into fight with Darko. People were recording it, and... well, what if that's all people talk about? It won't be about my campaign, it'll be all about Trent's stupid speech and Darko's punch-up with them!"

Raising her legs to her chest, she buries her face in her folded arms. I manage to reach toward her shoulder, rubbing it in small circles. "Trent's an asshole—you and I both know that. He got what was coming to him. Duncan will get it too."

She looks up. "You're right. Still, it's only a matter of time before my Mum sees it... it's all just gone so awfully." She wipes her face, taking in a deep breath, stifling the shakiness of it. She kept talking, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. I want to keep listening, but my head hurts. Her voice was muffled, and the only thing I was interested in doing was staring at the space in front of me, eyes unfocused.

Lyra must have noticed my dissociation—she stopped talking. Scooting a little closer to me, she rested her head on my shoulder. "Sorry. You did just pass out. I shouldn't be dumping this all on you. Where's Bella, by the way? Was she not with you?"

I shut my eyes and hug myself tighter. Her name rings in my head and as much as I try to fight it, tears begin to form. "I... I don't k-know."

My voice hitches, and Lyra sits up, eyes knitting together in confusion. "Taylor, what's wrong?"

More tears fall. I can't control them. I take off my glasses as Lyra rubs my back, concern painting her face. So many thoughts and words swim in my head — I want to tell Lyra everything that's happened. All I manage to say is "I want to go home."

"Why're you crying? Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it—"

I shake my head with a little too much force. "N-no. I just... I want to go home."

She frowned. "I'll see if Ana's nearby. She can organise a cab for you both – I think it's time I shut down the party anyway. Darko and Stefan just left, and you're in no condition to help clean up. I'll deal with this all in the morning."

"Th-they left?"

She nods. "And in a hurry too. Which was weird—he just jumped in Stefan's car in a rush. Wish he didn't take the frozen pea bag with him though. I was gonna use that tomorrow."

She stands up and offers me her hand. Helping me lean on the countertop, she then goes to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and an empty plastic bag from a nearby drawer. "I'll be back. Wait here, drink some water. Use this if you feel sick again. Once Ana is here I'll get you two sorted with a taxi."

With a weak smile, she walks away. The tears slow down, and after a few minutes I'm down to the occasional whimper. So many thoughts plague my head, and the alcohol doesn't make them easy to decipher. Is Darko okay? Does Darko think that Bella and I are a thing now? Why did he leave?

I can't get the image of his expression out of my head. Maybe I'm looking way too much into it, but he seemed sad. Definitely shocked and confused, but there was a hint of sadness in his expression. I could just feel it.

Maybe I should message him, to check on him. A text wouldn't hurt, right?

I pull out my phone and pause. Maybe I should wait a little while. Everything feels so raw and fresh—a text now would feel too soon, right? I don't know. For all I know, Bella is still in the backroom and Darko's face would still sting from the fight he had with Trent and Duncan...

... fuck it. I've already gotten myself stupidly drunk and made one of the worse mistakes of my life, what's one more message going to do?

I click the on button, and of course the battery is flat. Ugh. It's probably for the best. I'll just have to text him tomorrow or talk to him about it in school after the weekend passes.