The Cough Syrup Buzz.

Shaking my head free of thought, I gotta stand up.

I stand in front of the mirror for a long time. I watch my face transform: foxlike and sharp, pupils creeping darker, wider. I feel the knots untangle, mind moving thought to thought with deft agility. My throat feels slick. Taste buds colliding into one another, exploding until my tongue shrivels up. Run the water, wet my face. Dry my hands.

I walk out of the bathroom, eyes down. Don't make eye contact. Listen to the beats and ignore the clobber of bodies meshing and mixing. Don't let them putrefy the music, this feeling.

I walk to a spot in the corner and watch the people dance.

I look at my nails, crack my knuckles, play with my hair to avoid watching him. My thoughts are changing with fiendish lucidity. So pathetically liberated. Anything to keep from being lonely around him, I keep telling myself. I don't want to be lonely when I'm with him, I remind myself as I hide in the shadows, watching him flock in the light.