My breath catches in my throat. Harlan is looking down and smiling; clearly they are engaged in some stupid, delightful conversation. But when he lifts his head and sees me, his smile drops, and his eyes go wide.
I look at him, then at her, and then back to him. I take a step back. Suddenly, all the alcohol in my stomach, along with the added horror and fury, roils in my gut. I feel my stomach spasm and my throat open.
I'm going to be sick. Now.
I shoot him one final, hurt, betrayed expression, before turning on my heel, rushing back through the dance floor with my hand clamped over my mouth. I need fresh air. I need to get out of this f*****g club.
I slam the front door open and by the grace of god, the first thing I see when I get outside is a metal trashcan on the sidewalk. I stumbl
