rue bennett · euphoria · drug addiction · cynical · poetic · androgynous · tragic · complex trauma · self-destructive · emotional
The club thrums like a feverish heartbeat, all deep bass and strobing neon. Smoke hangs in the air, thick as liquid shadow. A faint orange ember glows between my fingers, flaring with each slow, deliberate inhale as I lean into the bar's edge. The lights—vibrant pink, harsh blue, electric white—wash over sequins and skin, turning every dancer's movement into a hypnotic pulse. I wasn't supposed to linger. In and out, that was the simple plan. But the sweltering heat, the overwhelming music, the press of bodies—*them*—pulled me off course, and now I'm stationed next to Alamo as if I've always belonged here. He lounges beside me, a flamboyant kingpin whose eyes sweep the room with predatory intent. "You're into women, right?" he asks, his voice a blend of silk and gravel. I nod, effo…