The music in Bridges Hall is a heartbeat—a pounding, relentless rhythm that reverberates through the walls and into the night air. The crowd is a living, breathing thing, a chaotic tangle of bodies moving to the pulse, spilling out onto the lawn. You can smell the alcohol, the sweat, the desperation to forget whatever's been weighing down on people, whatever they don't want to think about. And I? I'm just like them.

Including the part where I don't want to think about what's in front of me right now.

Becca is weaving through the crowd like she owns the place. She always moves through this scene with such ease—confident, carefree. Like she's made for it. I can't help but feel out of place, trailing behind her, trying to hide in the shadows of people who seem like they've been here a hundred times before. I haven't been to a party like this since the whole mess with Theo fell apart. And the thought of seeing him? God, it makes my chest tighten, my stomach knot. I'm not ready for this. Not ready for the crash of emotions that comes with seeing him in this sea of strangers.

But of course, fate has a cruel sense of humor.

It's like the universe can't help itself. I see him. Across the room, standing beside Lewis, laughing. His voice rises above the noise of the crowd, and for a second, it's like everything stops. Time slows. Like we're back there—before everything fell apart—before I had to pull away from him, before I let the distance between us grow so wide.

For a moment, it feels like he's still the same Theo—the Theo who could read my thoughts, the one whose every glance made me feel seen, understood in ways no one else ever could. But then I see her.

Peyton.

She's beside him, black hair shining under the lights, her body language so easy, so confident as she leans into him. Her fingers brush his arm, like it's something casual, like they've been doing this for a while now. She's laughing at something he said, leaning in closer, her eyes sparkling with a confidence I don't have. Her laugh is light and carefree, the sound of someone who never has to worry about anything, about how they're coming across.

She's everything I'm not. Bold. Effortless. Stunning.

And Theo? He's looking at her like she's the most fascinating thing in the room. Like she's the only one that matters.

A pang of jealousy cuts through me so sharp, I almost can't breathe.

Becca nudges me, lowering her voice. "Well, would you look at that? Guess she didn't need you after all"

I can't respond. My throat tightens as I watch her touch him, his easy smile making my chest ache. Peyton's everything I'm not—bold, flirty, stunning. The kind of girl who sees what she wants and goes for it. And right now, she wants Theo.

My Theo.

The thought makes me flinch. He's not mine.

My eyes stay glued on Theo, the way Peyton laughs and practically hangs off him, flipping her hair like she's in some commercial, and he... he's not pushing her away.

I should feel relief. This is what I wanted, right? I told myself I wasn't ready, that I couldn't deal with Theo's feelings. But seeing him with her feels like a knife twisting in my chest.

Before I can dwell on it too long, Becca's already handing me a drink. "Here. You need this."

I take the cup, not even asking what's in it, and down it in one go. The liquid burns, but I welcome the distraction. Anything to dull the ache building in my chest.

Becca raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything as I grab another drink. And then another. The more I drink, the more I feel the tension slowly ebb away. The music is louder, the lights brighter, and suddenly, nothing seems as bad anymore. Nothing but the sight of Theo with Peyton that keeps flashing in my head.

"I think you should sit down," Becca says, trying to steer me toward a couch, but I shake my head, suddenly feeling a rush of energy coursing through me.

"No." I laugh, though it comes out sharp, manic. "I don't want to sit. I want to dance."

Before she can stop me, I push through the crowd toward the center of the room, hopping up onto a table where the music pulses louder, shaking through my bones. The alcohol thrums in my veins, pushing out every rational thought, leaving nothing but reckless abandon in its place.

People cheer as I start to dance, swaying my hips to the beat, raising my arms above my head. A couple of guys whistle, egging me on, and I laugh, letting the music drown out everything else. Theo. Peyton. All of it.

I catch sight of Theo in the distance, and I dance harder, like if I keep moving, I can shake the weight of him off me. I can feel his eyes on me now, watching as I twist and turn on the table.

"Isla!" I hear Becca's voice, but it's drowned out by the crowd. Someone hands me another drink, and I take it, downing it quickly, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread through me, numbing everything.

All eyes are on me, the guys near the edge of the crowd whistling and cheering louder. I feel their gazes trailing over me, appraising, like I'm some sort of spectacle. The alcohol in my system only makes me bolder, and I sway my hips to the beat, letting the music take over.

"Damn, look at her go!" one guy shouts, his eyes wide as he leans into his friend.

Another guy, standing just below me, smirks, tilting his head back. "You're killin' it, girl!" he calls up, his gaze lingering too long, a bit too intense.

"She's a total smoke show," a third guy says, his voice slurred with whatever drink he's been nursing, his eyes never leaving me. "Best thing I've seen all night."

I feel their attention on me, like a wave of heat pressing against my skin. Part of me likes it, thrives on it—the recklessness, the boldness that comes with knowing they're drooling over me. The cheers and whistles only push me further, the sound of their voices feeding the wild, untethered part of me that wants to forget everything else.

"Hell yeah! Take it off!" someone else yells from the back of the crowd, his voice carrying over the music.

My fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, pulling it up just a little, teasing the crowd. I can hear their chants building, louder and louder, their excitement matching the pounding of the bass.

"She's gonna do it, bro!" one of the guys says, his voice filled with anticipation. "Best party ever."

I laugh, the sound wild and reckless, as the alcohol clouds my judgment. The cheers grow louder, and the thrill of it, the attention, makes me feel invincible, like nothing matters except the moment—the freedom, the chaos, the way it feels to let go completely.

But just as I start to lift my shirt higher, strong hands grip my waist, yanking me back down. The world tilts, and before I can even process what's happening, I'm thrown over someone's shoulder, the cheers turning to a collective groan of disappointment.

"What the—" I slur, trying to make sense of what's happening, but my head is fuzzy, and the world tilts as I'm carried through the crowd.

I can hear people laughing, but I'm too disoriented to care.