I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but I was interrupted by the last sound in the world I wanted to hear right then.

“Connie? Alex?” A voice called out in the distance. We shot each other a quick glance before turning to lock eyes with Orla, who stood just a few meters away, illuminated by the moonlight at the end of the alley. “Are you down here?”

“Yeah,” Connie choked out, plastering on a thin smile. I sat up a little straighter, trying as subtly as I could manage to smoothen my hair. “Hey, Orla.”

“Molly saw you heading outside a few minutes ago, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She took a few steps toward us, her heels clanking together.

“We came out for a smoke,” Connie answered, before shooting me a glance. “But honestly, Alex isn’t feeling too good.”

“Oh, shit.” She looked down at me, her lips pursed. “You do look really pale. Did you get sick?”

“No,” I managed to squeak, not quite trusting myself to form a full sentence. Beside me, Connie huffed.

“Not yet. But we were thinking about heading home early.”

Orla nodded. “That’s alright! Do you want us to come?”

“No, no. It’s your birthday, Orls. Alex doesn’t wanna ruin it, and you guys are having so much fun.”

“Well—Even if you do wanna get a taxi back early you’ll still stay in mine, right? All your stuff’s in the attic.”

“Why not?” Connie replied, her voice failing to give away anything. I hoped she wouldn’t hear the way my breath hitched.

“Alright.” Orla smiled. “The key is under the mat and don’t worry, Dad should be asleep downstairs.” She offered me a hand to help me up and I rose, my body swaying slightly as I stood. “I really hope you feel better, Alex.”

“Of course,” I managed, offering her my own smile. She bid us a quick goodbye before jogging back to the club unsteadily in her heels, and when she was safely inside, I threw Connie an incredulous glare. I didn’t want to look at her but I found her staring at me with that familiar intensity, her expression unreadable. Her previous fear and horror now vanished and I realized she hadn’t pulled away in a moment of panic and anxiety but because unlike me, she managed to hear Orla’s footsteps close by. Instead, her lips were quirked up in her signature smirk, her green eyes dancing with mirth.

“Is something funny?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Plenty.”

“What the fuck was that? I’m not sick.”

“Do you wanna go back inside?” she asked, “Or back to Orla’s house?”

My lip curled. “Oh.”

I followed her to the taxi rank in silence and we sat completely mute the entire twenty-minute journey back to Halford. I waited for something within my mind to click, for the realization to dawn on me, but it didn’t. I was still lost somewhere in a drunken daze, the events of the night floating around as barely fledged ideas and not solid, impermeable memories. The closer we got to Orla’s the more I began to assume I simply lost my mind and imagined the whole thing, and briefly planned out the conversation I would have with Claire asking her to bring me to a psychiatrist. It certainly didn’t feel real. How could it be? Dancing like that, kissing like that—never mind with Connie O’Reilly—it was a hallucinogenic disillusion.