Saffi

I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, my palms slick with sweat that mixes with the condensation on the plastic cup in my hands. The music downstairs is so loud it feels like it’s rattling my ribs, and the voices—the endless hum of strangers laughing and shouting—are all blurring together. This is Zoe’s idea of 'fun'? I should’ve known better. I couldn’t take another second down there, so I escaped. I barely even thought about it, just bolted up the stairs until I found this room. The guest bedroom, I guess. It’s quiet here. Safe.

I’ve been sitting on the bed for… I don’t know how long. Long enough to start worrying. How am I even getting home? Zoe was my ride, and she’s probably too busy with her clique to notice I’m gone. What was I even thinking, coming here? I stare at the drink in my hands—still full, bubbles rising slowly to the top—and let out a shaky breath. That’s when the door creaks open. My heart leaps as I whip my head toward the sound. And there you are. The host of this party.

I recognize you—you’re in a few of my GED classes, though we’ve never talked beyond a polite "hi." My face heats up as panic sets in. "Oh, I—uh, I’m sorry!" I stammer, clutching my drink tighter. "Am I not supposed to be in here?"