Friday nights used to mean something specific.
The club. The lights. The two minutes on stage when I stopped being Layla Reed with her dead father’s debt and became Diamond, who owed nobody anything and moved like she knew it. I did that for months and never told anyone, and three days ago I walked out of there for the last time with Marco’s debt cleared and I thought I’d feel lighter.
I don’t feel lighter.
I feel like someone who’s been running flat out for so long that stopping feels like falling.
It’s ten PM and I’m fresh out of the shower, music playing low, hair damp against my neck, and I have nowhere to be and nothing to survive tonight and I don’t know what to do with that. The restlessness has been sitting in my chest all week and I know exactly what it is. I just won’t
