~Karla's Pov~
By the time I get back to the apartment, the sun's already dipped low behind the buildings, casting long gold shadows across the street.
My feet ache from the heels. I swore I wouldn't wear it again but did anyway. My brain feels scrambled half marketing strategies, half self-doubt. I smell like stale coffee and stress.
I unlock the door, kick it closed with the side of my foot, and toss my bag on the nearest chair.
"Home," I mutter, as if saying it out loud will make it feel true.
Then I hear it. A dramatic gasp.
"Oh my god, finally!" Tessa appears from the kitchen in an oversized band tee, ripped leggings, and jet-black hair that wasn't there this morning.
I blink.
"Whoa."
She twirls once in place, tossing her now glossy black waves over her shoulder like she's in a shampoo commercial.
"I told you I was gonna do it," she says, striking a pose.
I laugh, really laugh, for the first time all day.
"You look like a rock star."
"Thank you," she says with a grin. "A dangerously unhinged rock star with a craving for tequila and bad decisions."
"Terrifying."
"You're not wrong."
She collapses onto the arm of the couch, legs crossed, eyes sparkling with something mischievous.
"You know what would really make this night perfect?"
"Don't say tequila," I warn.
"Clubbing."
I give her a look. "Hard pass."
"Oh, come on," she groans. "You need this. You've been wound up tighter than my old violin strings. Just one night. Music. Lights. Hot people. Sweat. Chaos."
"That's your idea of fun?"
"That's everyone's idea of fun. You just haven't admitted it yet."
I head toward the fridge for water. "I'm not a clubbing person."
"You're not yet," she sings. "But you could be."
I lean against the counter, unscrewing the bottle cap, and glance over at her. She's pouting now. Full dramatic pout. Eyelashes fluttering. Black hair cascading down like a goth Disney princess.
"I don't even have anything to wear."
"I do," she says instantly, as if she was just waiting for that excuse. "We're the same size. And I have a black mini dress that's dying to be seen on someone who doesn't have commitment issues with their closet."
I sigh. Loudly. "Tessa—"
She stands up. "Listen. I get it. You've been through hell. You've lost so much. But tonight… let it be different. Not for me. For you."
I freeze.
And just like that, the bass hits before we even walk in.
It pulses through the floor, up through my heels, and settles somewhere just behind my ribs like a second heartbeat. The lights flicker in every color—violet, red, gold—like the night's trying on different moods.
I cling to Tessa as we move through the crowd, bodies already pressed tight, sweat and perfume swirling in the air like something sacred. She's glowing under the strobe lights, all black hair and fearless energy.
I, on the other hand, am still adjusting.
The dress clings in ways I'm not used to. The heels are taller than anything I'd normally wear. But people keep glancing. Turning. And for once, I don't shrink under it.
For once, I let it happen.
We find the bar, and before I can talk myself out of it, I'm holding a tall glass of something sweet and citrusy with a name I couldn't pronounce even if I tried.
"One drink," I remind Tessa.
She clinks her glass to mine. "And one night. That's all we need."
An hour later, I'm not even counting drinks.
I'm laughing too hard. I'm dancing without thinking. I'm moving like I forgot I ever had anything to worry about.
Tessa's somewhere to my right, wrapped in the arms of a guy with a jawline made for movie posters. She winks at me as she twirls away from him, then grabs my hand and spins me into a messy laugh.
I can't remember the last time I let loose like this. The last time I let my guard down long enough to feel anything that wasn't responsibility or guilt.
Someone grabs my other hand.
I turn, and there he is.
Tall. Dark hair. Stubble. A smirk that could ruin good judgment in under five seconds.
I don't even catch his name. Don't ask. Don't need to.
His fingers slide to my waist as the beat shifts into something slower, smoother. Our bodies move together without effort, like we've done this a hundred times before in a different life.
He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. I catch something about my eyes. Something about the way I move.
I don't answer.
I don't speak at all.
Instead, I kiss him.
Right there under the flashing lights and between strangers who couldn't care less.
His mouth is soft. Confident. One hand curls at the back of my neck, and for a few seconds, I forget every single reason I usually don't do things like this.
I forget about grief. About pressure. About being the girl with the quiet past and the heavy heart.
I just feel.
And then, like smoke, he's gone. Lost to the crowd.
I turn back to Tessa, breathless, dazed.
She grabs my hand, eyes wide. "Okay, what was that?!"
I laugh. A real, unfiltered, probably-too-loud laugh.
"I don't know."
We spin into each other again, letting the beat carry us. The lights blur. The night blurs. But in the middle of it all, there's a kind of clarity.
For once, I'm not Karla Smith: orphan, intern, walking trauma case.
I'm just a girl. Dancing with her friend. Letting herself be alive.
And that?
Feels like the most honest thing I've done in a long time.
We stumble through the apartment door somewhere close to 2:00 AM, giggling like middle schoolers sneaking in after curfew.
I kick off my heels the second we get inside, nearly tripping over the welcome mat. Tessa flops straight onto the couch, arms spread wide, black hair fanned out around her like some rock goddess who survived a world tour.
"My feet," she moans. "I don't even have feet anymore. Just regret."
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, my dress sticking to my skin in places I'd rather not think about.
"I kissed someone," I mumble, still dazed.
Tessa's head shoots up. "No, no, you devoured him. That was art, Karla."
I cover my face, laughing into my hands. "I didn't even get his name."
"That's the best part," she grins, eyes glassy but sharp. "You were so cool about it. Like, New York Karla is a total vibe."
I shake my head and retreat to my room before she convinces me to open another bottle of wine or start a karaoke battle.
My dress ends up on the floor. My makeup stays on. My phone dies somewhere between texting no one and trying to order fries I never ate.
The morning hits like a brick.
Head pounding. Throat dry. The sun is way too bright.
I peel one eye open, only to regret it immediately.
The taste in my mouth is somewhere between tequila and bad decisions. My ponytail is half undone. There's glitter on my pillow and a stray heel next to my desk like a sad little soldier that gave up halfway through the war.
I groan and roll onto my back, dragging the blanket up to my chin like it'll shield me from the consequences of my own impulsiveness.
Tessa's humming something in the kitchen. The smell of eggs maybe—wafts in, but even that makes my stomach flip.
I reach for my phone, still dead. Plug it in. Close my eyes again.
And then it comes back to me.
The music.
The lights.
Him.
That kiss.
That version of me, unafraid, reckless, alive.
I don't know who that girl was last night. But I didn't hate her.
She was... free.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like more than just the girl trying to hold it all together. I felt like someone my aunt Evelyn would've been proud of.
Because she always told me not to hide from the world.
"Live, Karla. Even if it scares you. Especially when it scares you."
And yeah, this morning I feel like I got hit by a taxi. But last night?
I lived.
Even if it was messy.
Even if I don't remember his name.
Even if the hangover feels like karma in liquid form.
I smile faintly, eyes still closed.
Maybe I needed that kiss more than I thought.