The club was a mess of the usual neon and noise I was quite used to. I sat in the corner booth with Lucas, staring at the sweating bodies grinding together like mindless beasts.
It was upscale, pretentious, and suffocating.
"Isn't this your scene? Why so nervous?" He nudged me.
He's right.
Usually if I were out with Lance or a group, I'd command the room. I'd charm the bouncer, get the bottles flowing, and be the center of attention everyone orbited around.
But I just wasn't feeling it tonight. The insult from Lucas earlier still stung and my mind felt fragile. Im looking back and actually second-guessing if I was truly disgusting and stupid like he said. Why do his words keep affecting me like this?
"I like more low-key places. Not this," I frowned.
"Well lighten up," Lucas looked up. "You look better smiling."
Asshole.
Suddenly, I was being hauled out of my seat. "What're you-"
"Lucas!" Someone called out.
