See You Next Saturday

Beneath The Surface

Alex staggered through the crowded mansion, her vision blurring as she tried to steady herself against the pulsating music. The room spun around her, and she couldn't remember how many drinks she'd had—only that it was too many.

The once-clear walls and furniture blurred into a haze as she stumbled through the crowd, each step more unsteady than the last. Faces passed by in a distorted swirl, and the chatter of the crowd mixed with the deafening bass, made her feel even more disconnected from reality.

She felt herself moving, but she had no destination in mind, just the need to keep going, to escape the heavy, oppressive weight of the alcohol's effect, mingled with her disruptive thoughts.

The world was numbing, and she welcomed it, despite how disconcerted she felt. Anything was better than facing her persistent mind.

Her legs took her up the staircase and down a hallway, and she pushed open the door to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before her stomach heaved violently. She sat on the cold tile floor afterward, her head resting against the cool porcelain, her mind a chaotic mess.

Time seemed to blur—she couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. She wanted to sleep, to escape the pain throbbing in her temples and the ache in her chest.

As she sat there, slumped against the cold, tiled wall of the bathroom, the world around her seemed to spin out of control. The bright, artificial light overhead flickered slightly, casting distorted shadows across the room.

She could barely keep her eyes open, her vision blurred from the alcohol coursing through her veins. The music from the party downstairs thudded distantly, muffled by the walls, yet its incessant bass still pounded in her head, making it impossible to focus.

The taste of bile lingered in her mouth, and the acrid smell of vomit filled the small bathroom. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force, her limbs sluggish and unresponsive.

She tried to gather her thoughts, but they slipped away like water through her fingers. All she wanted was to close her eyes and make everything stop.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. Her heart thudded in her chest, though it felt distant, almost as if it belonged to someone else.

She heard footsteps approaching, each one echoing loudly in her muddled mind. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in as dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

Then, she felt it—a hand on her thigh, the touch cold and invasive against her skin. It moved slowly, deliberately upward, a chilling contrast to the warmth of her drunken haze.

Panic surged through her, crashing over her like a tidal wave. She tried to scream, to push the hand away, but her body betrayed her. Her arms felt like lead, too heavy to lift, and her voice, trapped in her throat, refused to come out.

Her breath hitched as the hand continued its journey, and she felt utterly helpless, like a prisoner in her own body. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to move, to do something, anything to stop it, but she remained paralyzed, a mere observer of the horror unfolding.

Her thoughts raced, a chaotic swirl of fear and anger. She wanted to cry out, to lash out, but her limbs remained limp, useless. The room seemed to tilt, the walls warping in her peripheral vision as her heart pounded faster.