“You’re bloated. You’re ruining my image. Go disappear,” he said.
I did not raise my voice, and I did not cry, because I simply turned away from the party and from him as if something inside me had already made the decision long before this moment arrived.
Hours later, my phone lit up in the quiet of the night, and the message on the screen felt almost surreal after everything that had just happened.
“My cards don’t work. Why won’t the door open?”
“What is wrong with you?” Brandon Hayes whispered angrily as he gripped my arm and pulled me into the dim corner near the emergency exit, where the smell of garbage from the alley mixed harshly with expensive champagne and perfume drifting from the ballroom.
“He threw up, Brandon, he is an infant, and you could help instead of standing there judging,” I replied while trying to keep my voice steady despite the exhaustion pressing down on me.
