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The club was already full to bursting when the four boys made their way down the stairs into the sweaty buzz and thumping music. A night of drinking and fun had lead them exactly where they wanted to be. The promise of more alcohol, girls and dancing was magnetic and the atmosphere between the four of them was typically electric. Only this night there was the promise of something else. Somthing none of the boys had ever tried before. As the four scanned the room for any avilable girls and pushed there way into the throng of gyrating and happy crowds, a fifth boy desceneded the steps. While he was friends with the other four he didn't share their enthusiasm. James had never revelled in the same drinking culture his friends did. He never let himself go and never randomly introduced himself to women. He always suspected his non athletic frame and and thick glasses were unlikely to appeal to members of the fairer sex. James had always preffered the slower track. The quiet life, even when accused of being boring. The club and all the people in it were like hell to him. He forced his way through the dancers to catch up with his friends at the busy bar. Mark, the tallest of the group, was craning his neck above the crowds hoping to spot the one person they were here to meet. The main reason they were here. Scott, thin and wiry with a shaggy ginger mop of hair, snapped at him. "Where are they, Mark? I thought you said they were meeting us outside." The taller boy shot him a look, before returning to scouting the faces in the club. "No. I told you they said they were held up and that they would meet us in here. They'll give me a text when they're here." "Well make sure they get here soon. Tonight is gonna go off!" Scott slapped the back of another friend, Assad, a tall and muscular asian boy who was currently making eyes at a girl further down the bar. The girl was making them right back. He took no notice of the slap. "They'll be here. Don't worry," Mark said, reassuringly. The last of the boys, Dale turned back from the bar holding five shots of tequila, and a beer for himself. He gleefully handed them to each of the boys, placing Assad's on the surface beside him. He didn't want to interrupt the ongoing courtship that ws going on across the bar. The four other boys each finished their shots, James sipping while the others downed. Dale jabbed James playfully in the ribs with a smile on his face. "And what about you James? You gonna be on it tonight or is it another boring one for you?" James scoffed audibly. "Oh yeah. I'm definitely gonna be on it. You know me. I'm always on it." His voiced dripped with sarcasm. "Even if being on it means being on hard, class A drugs." Dale rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, James man. You'd think we were planning a murder. It's just a bit of ecstasy. Everyone does it." "Really? Does everyone do it? I've never done it. You've never done it. None of us has ever done it!" "Well don't you think it's about time we did?" This time James rolled his eyes. "Oh leave him, Dale," Scott interjected. "If he wants to be boring then let him be boring." "It's boring to not want to be a fucking druggy now is it? You know I've heard you only have to take drugs once and you're addict..." "Booooooorrrrring" Scott's low drone cut him off. James stopped. There was no way he was going to win against this absolute base level of argument. There was a silence between the boys. As much as a silence as could occur in a club like this. All three were relieved when the frustrated, angry voice of Mark cut through. "Fuck's sake! I've got no fucking signal in this place!" Scott was quick to temper. This time was no different. "What do you mean you've got no signal?! How are you supposed to meet the dealer in this place if you've got no signal?" Mark looked at him and shrugged. It was an angry shrug. "I don't know, Scott! We're underground! It's hard to get signal underground!" "I know it's hard to get signal underground, dick head! Get overground!" Mark looked at Scott perplexed. Scott's reply was slow and purposeful, "Go! Outside!" "But what if they don't let me back in?" "Go! Outside!" Scott repeated. To the side of him James could see Dale's fingers against his temple, a common sight when his friends argued. Assad still didn't seem to notice. The girl across the bar was much more intersting. James could feel the mood of the group. It was a welcome mood to him. If they couldn't find the dealer they couldn't get the drugs. If they couldn't get the drugs then maybe they could go home earlier. If they went home earlier James could get straight into bed, his favourite place. He saw a chance to further stir the pot and took it. "Mark, do you even know what this guy looks like?" The reply was not a strong one. "Err, black hair...Er, he's Czech, or Polish, or something...I dunno...Erm..." His voice trailed off till his admittance was quiet "I dunno." "WHAT!?!" Scott hit the roof. "What do you mean you don't know what the guy looks like?" "It's not like there's a drug dealer Tinder. You don't get their numbers with a fucking picture. He text me saying he'd meet us here and that he's got black hair. That was it!" "Well go outside and get a picture off him!" Scott was furious. James however was more than happy with the trainwreck of an evening this was turning into. He could almost feel the pillow under his head. "But they might not let me..." "GO!" "You don't just ask a dealer for a pict..." "OUTSIDE!" "I wanna look cool in front of the dealer..." Scott's outstretched arm and pointed finger cut Mark's pleas off. Again a silence fell across the group. James could barely hide his smile. Dale's head still hadn't left his hands. Mark's answer was a quiet one. "I'll go outside." As the tallest of the boys slunk away through the crowds, head bowed, Assad turned back from the bar. His goofy, loved up smile turned to confusion as he watched Mark go. "Where's he going?" A mood spread amongst the boys. What had started as excitement had turned to anger, had to turned to despondancy. Perfect, thought James. The boys had taken up residence at a table beside the dancefloor, listlessly sipping at their drinks and watching the other clubbers revelling. It was clear others had not been let down by their dealers. It was certainly the sort of night where drug taking was prevelant. Mark had still not returned from outside. It had been nearly half an hour since he left. James suspected he had not been allowed back in. Everything was falling into place. All these boys needed was a little push and they would be over the edge and on their way home. Making sure that everyone noticed, James went to check the time on his phone. "1 am guys. It's pretty pretty late." No reply. "Anyone reckon Mark didn't get let back in. I reckon he didn't. Don't think it's likely we'll see him again." "Dunno." Dale's answer was weak. "Unless we left. We could go find him! We could go find him and then catch the bus back home..." He was cut off. He had been too enthusiastic. Scott had managed to sum up what little energy he had left to turn on James. "Oh fuck off you boring twat! If you don't wanna be here then fuck off home! I'm nineteen James! Not sixty fucking five. If you wanna sit at home doing crosswords and drinking herbal fucking tea then do it! Don't come out and put a fucking downer on my fucking night you fucking fuck!" James was stunned into silence. Scott continued, quieter than before, "I'm going to get a fucking drink." "I'll come too." Assad stood up slowly, throwing James a dirty look. As the two boys barged their way towards the bar, Dale stayed, turning to look at James. "Why do you do that, man?" "Do what?" James knew exactly what. "That. Try and make sure everyone is having as bad a time as you." "I don't do that. It's just that..." "You do," Dale cut him off, "What about that time we went to Leeds festival and you handed our laughing gas over to security at the gate? Or when Assad was getting off with that girl and you told her boyfriend?" "It was the right thing to do." "Look man, we invite you on these nights out because we're your friends. How long have we known each other? Twelve years, something like that? If you don't want to come we're not forcing you." "I know. It's just..." Dale cut him off again. "You're going to have to accept that we do like coming out. We do like drinking. We do like the idea of trying drugs. You don't have to like that stuff but don't expect us to give in to you." "Dale, mate..." "You're gonna find it's harder for us to be friends if you do." Another awkward silence. This one seemed to last forever. Dale purposefully stared out across the club, refusing to make eye contact. James sat there dumbfounded. He knew that the boys were annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm for nights out and drinking. He knew he could be a bit of downer. He knew he wasn't like his other friends, but he never knew it was this bad. The idea of losing his friends over something as stupid as this cut deep. His heart felt like lead. Why were his friends being so harsh with him? Did he deserve it? He didn't feel like he deserved it. There was a lump forming in his throat. That would be the final straw, crying in front of his friends. Hell, they'd drop him for that alone. His eyes stung a little as he held tears back. His head was fuzzy and buzzed with rejection and anger and the little alcohol he had already had. If they didn't want him there anymore then fair enough. Internally he vowed, this would be his last night out. This night. This shit night sat at a table watching others have fun. If anything this proved what James had been saying was right. He wouldn't miss nights like this. "Fair enough," he said, carefully not allowing his voice to crack, "but you can't blame me for tonight. Mark's is the one who didn't get the dr..." "LADS!" James lifted his heavy, buzzing head to see Mark's face bobbing above the crowd. He wore a huge smile. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" "Mark?" James hadn't expected to be relieved to see him but anything to break this awkward atmosphere with Dale was welcome. As the tall boy edged his way closer to the two, the dancers around them parted. It was clear from the path they made that Mark wasn't alone. Whoever he was with was catching the stares of everyone they passed. James soon saw why. As Mark emmerged from the nearest group of clubbers a girl followed behind him. She was almost certainly the most beautiful girl James or Dale had ever seen. Her body was held in a tight knee length, black bodycon dress, that showed off her long smooth legs, round behind and ample breasts without actually showing them off. Straight black hair framed either side of the soft curves of her face, while a harsh straight fringe almost covered her eyes, eyes that somehow shone out from her heavy, smoky make up brighter than anyone elses would. Her dark, olive skin was flawless, even when illuminated by the uneven coloured lights of the club and her plump lips were held in a slight smirk. James mouth fell open. He knew he shouldn't stare but he couldn't help it. "Guys, this is err..." Mark paused as he too turned to look at the girl and saw how beautiful she was, even if this wasn't his first time seeing her. "Isabella" She finished for him. Her voice was heavily accented, eastern European. Mark went to repeat the name but the words caught in his throat. Instead he made a strange coughing sound and continued to stare at Isabella. It was her short sharp nod in the direction of the table that finally set him on his way as he obidiently sat at the nearest chair. James and Dale followed. The boys watched as Isabella clicked her way over to the next table, whispered something into the ear of another young man and thanked him for the chair he immdietly and unquestionably handed over. She brought it back to the table and swung it down close to James. Very close. Sitting down, she demurely crossed her legs and placed her handbag on the table, making a point of opening the clasp and leaving it open. "Dale, is it?" she asked. "Er...yeah." His answer was slow and far more considered than anyone answering such a simple question should have been. The girl just smiled. "And James?" She turned to face the nearest boy. She was so close to James. At this distance it was clear just how striking and dark her eyes were. She didn't drop her gaze even slightly. James couldn't drop his. "Yeah," "Mark tells me you boys are looking to make this a memorable night. Well I might have just what you need." She reached one, perfectly manicured hand into her still open handbag and produced a small, plastic bag before placing it on the table next to the handbag. If she cared at all about being caught by the clubs security she didn't show it. Inside the bag sat a dozen, small white pills. James was taken aback by how harmless and inauspicious they looked. Almost medical. He didn't know what he had expected but it was something far different from what he was seeing now. "One hundred and fifty." This time she was looking directly at Mark. "Pounds." "Oh yeah! Of course. Sorry. I've got it right here." The taller boy fumbled clumsily with his pocket as he tried to retrieve his wallet. From the corner of his eye James could tell Isabella was looking at him again. Her stare felt like a pressure against his forehead. He didn't look up. Who knew when he would be able to look away again. Mark almost threw the money across the table. His wallet almost came with it. The young woman was unfazed. James reckoned she must be used to men acting like this around her. "It's all there. Thank you boys. Now you go have fun." Another wicked smirk played across her lips as she picked the bag of pills up between the forefingers of her right hand and passed it across the table to Mark. His large palm stetched out eagerly as the bag landed into it. No one rose up. It took another sharp nod of her head before anyone moved. Mark and Dale stood up obidiently and started towards the dancefloor. James stayed sat down. Dale turned back towards him. The two boys stared each other in the eye. They were both making their stand. "James?" The smaller of the two boys slowly shook his head. As he walked away towards the dancefloor Dale's head drooped low at the refusal of his friend to join him. He barely noticed the wide eyed stares of Assad and Scott as they saw Isabella for the first time and mentally kicked themselves for going to the bar when they had. It took the large hands of Mark on each of their shoulders to turn them around towards the dancefloor. James watched them all go. This felt big. His friends had gone somewhere he wasn't willing to follow. He wasn't sure if he'd ever really get them back. He also felt a familiar pressure in his forehead. Isabella was looking at him. "You're not going?" The boy swallowed the lump that had reformed in his throat. "No," He shook his head, "it's...er...not for me." He was surprised by the beautiful drug dealers reaction. A smirk that had been wicked and alluring only a second ago shifted. Her stare softened and her lips parted a little. It was a smile designed to comfort those who needed it. "Not for you but for all your friends. That must hurt a little, I think." "A little, I guess." His head dropped. "Only a little though. I don't know." "Of course," The corners of her mouth twisted ever so slightly upwards, "It still hurts though. I think perhaps this is not the first time you have been sat here, watching all your friends together, yes?" "No," James' reply was solemn and quiet, "no it's not." "Like you say, is not for you I guess," There was a long pause between the pair which, despite the thumping bass of the clubs music, felt very silent. Isabella broke first, "Do you ever wish it was for you?" "Pardon?" "Do you ever wish you could be like them? You ever wish you could enjoy dancing and drinking and experimenting with drugs?" James considered his answer. "I don't know. Honestly I wish they were more like me." He was taken aback by Isabella's chuckle. Her eyes stared into him, still soft and sympathetic but perhaps a little less so. "I think this is a little selfish, perhaps, hoping that they will see your way as best. I think they like the way they are. Do you like the way you are?" "I don't know..." "I don't know. You say that a lot." "Do I?" "Yes." Another long pregnant pause. Isabella did not drop her gaze. "I think maybe it's you who has to make a decision here James. I think maybe you already know this." "I suppose so. I was thinking that myself." Suddenly he caught himself. Who was this woman? Why was she engaging him in some sort of psycho therapy session in a clubs seating area. She was supposed to be here to sell drugs, not dole out life advice without it being asked of her. Why was he willing to tell her so much? "Sorry, are you not just a drug dealer? Why are you so interested in my social life." "Perhaps." For the first time in the conversation she turned away from James and looked out across the dancefloor, almost wistfull, still smiling, "Perhaps I am just drug dealer, but I see lots of people who are not happy in life. Lots of people who take my drugs to feel different, feel better. Be different, be better. And of course..." She paused and turned back towards him. "Perhaps I am not just a drug dealer." "What does that mean?" Isabella continued on as if he had not spoken a word. "I think I can sense unhappiness in people. Yours is a lonliness that I too have felt. Being sat on the outside, looking in." James found it very hard to imagine that a girl like Isabella ever had a problem fitting in. He also wasn't used to this kind of open conversation. No matter how beautiful she might have been her willingness to speak so freely around him made him uncomfortable. "Err..." That was the best response he could muster. "Perhaps I was a lot like you. A lot more than you would imagine anyway, but I realised a new way of being the first time I tried these special pills. It made me realise how much potential for happiness I had, and how much of a responsibility to seek out true unhappiness and kill it I had as well. Unhappiness is the one great evil in this world. I have been doing this job a long time and I have grown accustomed to it, unfortunately. Is that the right word, accustomed?" James shrugged, unhelpfully. He couldn't help thinking she was being a tad over dramatic and rather bigging up how noble a profession drug dealing could be. Still, a part of him was entralled by her and her words. A part of this resonatedwith him deeply. He would still deny it. "Well that's great, but it's still not me," James protested, meekly "I'm not unhappy." "I think, yes you are." "I'm not." "Yes." "No." His answers were becoming weaker as her gaze grew stronger. He felt the same buzz in his temple as before. "You are." Even he hadn't believed his denial and now this beautiful woman was telling him he wasn't. And she was telling him. No longer asking. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was actually unhappy. Maybe he had been unhappy for a long while amongst his friends. And as they got more and more distant and they had less and less in common, maybe he would would stay unhappy. The lump reformed in his throat. Isabella's hand moved to grasp his. Her touch was like electric to James, but her grip was soft and comforting. She had leaned in closer. Her face only a foot or so from his own. "I don't like unhappy people, James. I think I can help you. This can help you. It's different from the ones I gave your friends. Stronger. The effects more potent. You will like it." She opened her hand and took it back. He missed it already. James hadn't noticed at first but she had forced a pill into his palm, small and white, like the others. He stared down at it. Is this all it really took? "I can't afford them." "They're free." "Why?" She shrugged. "I don't know." "Those words again," She smiled, warmly, "I do know. This pill can help you, James." "But..." "Just like they helped me." Her eyes were somehow darker and more intense than they had appeared all night. They bored into James' head, almost like they were peering inside it. She would not take no for an answer. He could see that now. This mad, strange, beautiful woman who had come into the room like a whirlwind to sell his idiot friends drugs had somehow changed him in just over fifteen minutes. Just like they helped her? What did that mean? What did any of the last fifteen minutes mean? James felt like his head was swimming, and he hadn't even taken the pills yet. "How do I do it?" The question seemed so childish. "Put it in your mouth and swallow. Easy peasy." Her smile, still warm. The nod of her head forceful. James gave in. He obidiently obliged. He threw his head back and closed his mouth shut around the little white pill. He swallowed. That was it. Easy peasy. "There. Done." "Well done, James. I don't think you'll regret it," He looked up at her and smiled. It was an uncertain smile. He began to tap his feet, anxious at what was coming. Part of him wanted to run to the toilet, stick his finger down his throat and throw up. Somehow he felt Isabella could stop him. "Now what?" "Now?" Isabella's pause was dramatic. She turned towards the bar and nodded. "Now I think you need a drink." "Really? Why? Do I look like I need a drink? Why do I need a drink?" "James!" Her voice was louder than it had been all night. It instantly shut him up. Without thinking her second, short, sharp nod was all the prompting he needed to get up and start towards the bar. He didn't once look back towards the smoky, piercing eyes that watched him leave. By the time he returned with his drink Isabella was gone. He would never see her again. On the dancefloor Scott, Mark and Dale were starting to come up. Their eyeballs were dark and wide. Their brows just a little bit more sweaty. The beat of the music vibrated through their bodies. Somewhere else on the dancefloor Assad had caught up with the woman from the bar. His tongue was planted firmly upon hers. "You feeling it?" Mark asked the other two, excitedly. "Yeah. It's weird. I can, like, feel the music in my legs and I feel the lights sort of around my head." Scott replied. It was the kind of conversation that any sober person would find infuriatingly tedious. The kind of conversation only those on drugs could enjoy. Mark nodded in complete agreement. The nod quickly turned into a dance. Dale was less enthused. "Scott, do you think James is OK?" "What?" "Do you think James is OK!?" "James? Who cares about James? Let him be boring." "Yeah I know. I guess. I think I might have been a little too harsh on him, y'know." "Look mate, if he doesn't wanna try this then it sucks to be him. We're here. We're good. We're..." He placed both hands on Dale's shoulders and stared into his eyes. He was really starting to rush now, "Fucking hell. This is amazing!" Dale laughed. Scott laughed. They pulled each other into a sweaty man hug, quickly followed by Mark. On the side of the dancefloor James still felt nothing. Isabella had promised him untold happiness and joy and then left him in the same place, with no friends and god knows what chemicals floating around in his stomach. He crossed his legs at the thigh purposefully before placing his elbow on his knee and his hand under his chin. His foot hung limply in front of him. His lips stuck out in a pout as he considered his options. He could stay here and see what happens or he could leave and risk seeing what happens on the bus home. Neither option was particulaly appealing to him right now. What he did know was that he needed the toilet. He hadn't drunk much that night but what he had drunk was taking hold. He quickly downed the rest of his drink and made his way to the dark, sticky toilets of the club. The usual stink of stale alcohol, sweat and piss hit his nostrils hard as the door to the toilets swung open. James had never been a fan of club toilets, just another reason to not go out, but these ones seemed especially rank. And there was no cubicles free. James cursed his bad luck. He hated the urinals. He hated standing that close to another person while you both urinated. It was so unhygenic. It was so base. However it seemed like he had no choice. He hadn't realised just how much the alcohol was affecting him until this moment. He needed to relieve himself and there was only one other person at the urinals. Even he could go in this case. He unzipped his fly and allowed his cock out into the air, trying to ignore the other guy stood three urinals down the wall. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath to relax. Big mistake. Again the stench of the toilets found his nostrils. He tried his best to ignore it and concentrate on relieving himself. Still nothing. This was unusual for James. As timid and negative as he was in social situations he never had trouble with stage fright like this. The drugs, perhaps? James suspected it was the state of the toilets. He had never noticed just how much the smell and uncleanliness of the mens toilets bothered him, but now it was all he could think of. How could he be expected to pee in conditions like these? The sound of a cubicle unlocking behind him was sweet relief. Quickly he zipped up his pants and made a bee line for the door, locking it behind him. The cubicle wasn't much better. The toilet seat was specked with the evidence of the last persons visit. James cursed whoever he had been. This was disgusting. How was James supposed to pee when the seat was covered in piss like this? It was a common courtesy to clean the seat after you used it surely, even in these toilets. Reluctantly James wiped the seat clean, taking care not to touch the seat itself. He wiped it five times, just to be sure. He struggled slightly to pull the seat of his skinny jeans down, before turning around and tentatively placing his arse onto the cold plastic. The relief he felt as he finally relieved himself was palpable, even if he still couldn't totally ignore the horror he had felt at the toilet itself. James emerged back into the club to find the happy throngs of people still dancing and himself feeling no better than before. He was relieved at least to see his lonely perch had remained unclaimed however as he made for the same chair. He dropped his behind down heavily, re-crossed his legs and went to grab his drink. He only grabbed cold, empty glass. He looked down at what was once his drink. Had he really finished it already? He remembered having a fair amount left. Had he downed it? He never usually downed it. He was always very careful to watch his drink on nights out. Cursing his over excuberence, he put the glass back on the table. He'd love a drink right now and in a rush to get to the bathroom he'd finished his. Maybe another one? He had already had more than he would usually care to drink tonight. Plus the effects of the drugs were still to show themselves. It wasn't a risk he would often take but he couldn't sit there all night without a drink. Not like he usually did. Sighing, he uncrossed his legs and sauntered over to the bar. James was surprised with the ease and speed at which he found himself at the bar. Usually he would wait patiently behind rows of other drinkers for his turn to be ignored by the bar staff. This time he found himself at the bar in no time at all. It was almost as if people had let him pass. Mentally shrugging it off he praised his luck and tried to catch the attention of the girl behind the bar. Obviously he was ignored. Somethings just don't change. James resolved to wait his turn. "Hi there." James was shocked to hear a voice beside him. He turned to see a man probably only a few years older than himself but almost a foot taller, with a shaved head and stud in one ear smiling down at him. He didn't smile back. "Err...Hi," he replied. He thought it best to say something. "My names Craig." The taller man's smile never waivered. His gaze didn't either. James made a small nod of acknowledgment. Nothing more, "What's yours?" "James." "Cool, cool. It's so packed in here tonight, isn't it?" James considered Craig again. Why was he talking to him? Looking him up and down Craig certainly seemed like the kind of person James tried to avoid. This was the kind of man whose confidence and self assuredness was nothing but intimidating to James. "Yeah. I guess so." His answer was purposefully non-commital. "Yeah, cool. Don't think that girls ever gonna make her way down this side of the bar, do you?" "I dunno." "No, yeah, probably not." James got the distinct feeling that Craig wasn't particulaly listening to his responses, "So you here with anyone tonight?" "Pardon?" This question really caught James off guard. This was not the kind of thing he had ever been asked before. It was the kind of thing someone asks before they try and chat you up. Was Craig making fun of him? Was Craig gay? He didn't look gay but James thought it best not to ask. Beside, did anyone really look gay? That was a pretty outdated way of thinking. He paused mentally for a second. Craig continued to smile down at him. It made James wonder if he himself looked gay "Just a few friends. They're out on the dance floor." "Ok, cool!" Craig's smile widened and his leer seemed to intensify at the news. "Hey, do you mind if I buy you a drink?" James' heart was pounding. He guessed Craig really was gay. He had never been chatted up in a bar before and now for the first time ever it was a man doing it. How was he going to let Craig know he wasn't interested? That he wasn't gay himself. He didn't know where to look or what to do with his hands. Awkwardly he resolved to push the front of his hair backwards with his finger and turn away towards the dancefloor. James would have killed to see Dale or Mark right now. Even Scott. For his part, Craig still didn't turn away. And yet, part of James was flattered. The idea that someone, anyone, would want to approach him in a club and buy him a drink was alien. Even if that person was a man it made a small part of the shorter boy feel good. He turned back towards Craig and smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It was an awkward, short and soft smile but it seemed to make Craig's goofy grin even wider than before. He gave a small, slow nod of the head. It was the least eager way he knew to say ok. That was how James found himself thanking Craig for the drink before turning away from the bar and starting back towards his seat, with a vodka lemonade in his shaking hands. He didn't make it back. That was when the drugs hit. Out on the dancefloor Scott and Mark had found a very very happy place. Their necks were like loose pieces of spaghetti as their heads swung backwards and forwards to the thumping rhythm of the music. Their eyes were wide and their mouths were stuck in happy rictus grins. Assad was still attempting to make out with the girl from earlier but his bodies insistence on trying to dance and her lack of drug fuelled compliance was making things difficult. They were still kissing but both would rather be doing something else. Dale stood close beside them. The drugs had definitely hit him but he would be lying if he said that they had hit him in the same way as his friends. He didn't feel happy. He didn't feel like dancing. He just felt hot and tense. There was something playing on his mind. Something that meant he wasn't able to fully let himself go. The argument with James had affected him a lot more than he had previously realised, even if he wouldn't admit it. James was stood stock still. He didn't want to move. Moving might increase the sensation in his legs. The buzzing that ran from his toes all the way up to his crotch. A buzzing that hummed and flowed with the beat of the music, tingling his skin and sending shivers up his spine. He hastily looked around at everyone else. No one seemed to be noticing just how strange he was feeling. None of them seemed to be feeling anywhere near as strange as him. Part of him wanted to call out for help. To hold onto someone in case he fell over. These sensations were all new. He didn't know what to do. He felt panicked. And yet, there was another feeling, sloshing around in the fuzz in his brain. It was a small feeling. Somewhere at the back of his mind that the panic couldn't reach. A small kernal of giddiness and excitement. A small force telling his legs and his spine and the panic in his brain that this feeling was ok. That it was more than ok. It was good. If James wanted it to be it could be the best he'd ever felt. James swallowed hard. "I guess this is what being on drugs is like," he said to no one in particular. Tentatively he took a step forwards, the slightly raised heel of his court shoe connecting with the floor and sending another low hum up his leg. He headed towards the wall. He didn't feel like sitting down anymore. In the dark corner of the club, leaning against the brickwork, James decided to take stock. He was past the threshold now. There was nothing he could do to stop the effects of what he had taken. Nothing he could do to get back to that state he was in beforehand. Grumpy. Moody. The only way was forwards. To listen to that small force in his head that told him it was ok. James took a deep breath, to steady himself. The potent scent of his lavender perfume filled his nostrils. He had always loved the smell of it but now it seemed so much better. Stronger and more intense. The tentrils of the perfume pushed there way into his nostrils, through his brain and straight towards the little force. It was a good smell. James peeled himself off the wall. Step by step he began towards the dancefloor. He could feel his head was getting hot. Small beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, the fringe of his shaggy, neck length hair beginning to tangle slightly. Just an effect from the drugs. He lifted his arm and wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand, remembering to push the hair back into place after he had. His legs too felt warm. He could feel the same droplets of sweat forming on his thighs. Why had he worn such tight jeans? He should have worn something shorter. He cursed himself for his fashion choice, but not too hard. He couldn't stay mad at himself. Not now. Not when, with every step, James began to feel better and better and better. He perched on the edge of the dancefloor and peered over the crowds of people, looking for his friends. He wanted to find them and show them he had done it. To rub it in Scott's face. See! James wasn't boring. He wanted to find Mark and thank him for getting these drugs. For giving him the chance to prove he could have fun. He wanted to find Assad and find out how he was getting on with the girl from the bar. He found himself really wanting to speak to her too. And he wanted to find Dale... As much as he tried to spot the four boys he couldn't. Even standing on tip toes James found he could barely see over the crowds in the club. He had never been the tallest person in the world but this was ridiculous. He knew back home he had a pair of shoes with a much taller heel than these ones. They would have helped him. Why hadn't he worn them? He loved them shoes. The black suede ones with the raised, red soul and block heel. James took a step back, pouting slightly. He wasn't sure if he was more upset about not being able to spot his friends or that he had remembered just how much he wished he had worn them shoes out. James began to make his way around the back of the dancefloor to spot his friends. He only made it halfway before the DJ caught his attention. It was a song James was certainthat he knew but right now, in his fuzzy minded state he couldn't quite remember the name. All he knew for sure was that he loved it. Again the heavy thumping bass notes shook their way up James' long legs. He stopped in his tracks. He couldn't walk any further. The music had a hold of him. James forgot all about his friends. He forgot all about his favourite shoes. He forgot all about everybody else in the club. Right now it was him, and only him. His legs began to move independently of his mind. His knees bent slightly in time with the buzz from the floor as he swayed his hips from side to side. The chorus swept over him like waves, each snare roll and synth line pushing his mind and his body further and further in ecstasy. He pressed his hands into the back of his head, his fingers intwining with the locks of shoulder length hair. He pushed them up, lifting his arms above his head before bringing them down and stroking the back of his neck and shoulders. If James had been more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed the admiring glances he was receiving from many of the boys around him, but he wasn't. He was completely and utterly gone. The drugs had hit the mark. All the panic was gone. The effects had already begun. A sharp tug on James ear brought him back into the room. A long, sweaty lock of hair had caught it self in the small hoop James had put in the lobe of his ear earlier. It didn't take long for James to remove the earring and the offending hair, before putting the hoop back in without the need for a mirror. How long had he been dancing for? The song playing was certainly not the same one he had begun to dance to. He turned back around, towards the dancefloor. Of course. He was supposed to be finding his friends. He lightly held his face in his hands, trying to steady his vision. Again he tried to peer over the crowds. Again he couldn't see a thing. If anything he could see less. There was only one thing for it, he resolved. He was going in. As carefully as he could James made his way into the crowd. He struggled through, finding small pockets of space within the moving and gyrating mass. It was a much heavier and more tightly packed dancefloor than James had realised from the outside. All around people towered over him, squashing him into corners and dead ends in the crowd. Drinks, that were being held above his head, dripped down onto his bare, smooth shoulders and his arms leaving sticky trails on is skin. That is what you get for wearing something sleeveless. James pushed forwards still. The closer he got to the middle of the floor, the busier it seemed to get. The sweatier and warmer it became. It wasn't a nice place to be. At the back of his head, where there had once been excitement, a little panic was beginning to set in. James' pushing through the crowd became more anxious and flurried. He jabbed his elbows strongly into the ribs of a man in front of him, only to be pushed back by the surge of the crowd. He was finding it more difficult to breathe. The moisture of all the sweat was close, overwhelming his senses and filling his lungs. Sharply, he turned around to walk back the way he came and accidently walked right into the back of a tall, shaven headed man. Craig turned around. The same smile that had been fixed on his face at the bar returned slowlyas he recognised the person behind him. His eyes were wide and his pupils were black. Whatever James was on, Caig was on it too. James didn't know what to do. On the one hand he had no desire to be chatted up by Craig again, on the other a friendly face in this crowd was a welcome sight. "Hey!" Craig beamed down at James, "How're are you? Are you having a good time?"If he was being honest James wasn't sure if he was. He had been feeling great before but the experience on the dancefloor had knocked his mood. In the end it was best to just give the easiest answer. "Yeah." "I feel amazing! Are you on something too? You look like you're on something!" "Really?" James hadn't even considered how he must have looked, his long hair sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck, eyes big and puffy. He prayed the light foundation he had applied under his eyes wasn't running. "Yeah! Your eyes! Your pupils look huge!" Craig laughed. "They still look great though!" If his eyes weren't focused and alert, James would have rolled them. That was a pretty obvious line. Craig would have to work harder than that. "Thanks!" James replied. He smiled slightly. This seemed to please Craig immensely. "You're still on your own! I thought you were with friends!" "Yeah, I am! They're around here somewhere! I just came onto the dancefloor to find them but I can't see..." James never got to finish his sentence. From the side of him two men emerged from the crowd, bouncing happily to the music and oblivious to the shorter boy who was knocked heavily to the ground. If the dancefloor had been claustraphobic and tight stood up, on ground level it was even worse. James was blind. All around him he could sense the forest of legs, moving in time with the bass that rose up through the floor. James hands slipped on the wet and sticky floor of the club. A stiletto heel pressed sharply into his right thigh as he writhed around, trying to get leverage with his own heels and regain his feet. In the end he didn't need to. He felt a strong grip tighten around his small wrist as a muscular arm pulled him upright, almost wripping the gold bangle off his arm. In a flash he found himself stood up and held close against the chest of Craig. He could vaguely hear a shout telling the two bouncing men to ", fuck off, if you know what is good for you," He was just relieved to be back on his feet. "I'm sorry about that! I didn't see them! I would have stopped them if I had!" Craig insisted, as he tentatively let James go. "It's...It's OK." "People like that really get on my fucking nerves, you know! They need to calm down! It's not just them in here!" "Honestly, It's fine. It's not your fault. Just a couple of...a couple of..." James' breath quickened. His heart began to beat quickly and he could feel his face flush red. His head felt light and his legs felt weak. He stumbled forwards a little, grateful to be held up by Craigs outstretched arm. All around him the sound of the club became muffled and the lights seemed to blur and stretch in his peripheral vision. And yet he felt good. Even better than he had when dancing alone before. In some ways he felt better than he ever had. He looked up into the face of Craig, his eyes searching and wide and a little confused. Craig simply smirked back. "It's OK! You're just rushing! Just go with it! It'll pass and you'll feel amazing!" James nodded a small sharp nod. He licked his lips and tasted the slighest hint of cherry. When had his mouth got so dry? He was still leaning on Craigs forearm for balance, and even as his words found their way into James' head he began to recover a little. He refound the strength in his legs. He refocused his vision. He felt the full effect of the drugs. "I...I..." James was babbling slightly. He knew he had the words. He just had better things to focus on than finding them. "I feel amazing!" "I bet you do!" Craig withdrew his arm and watched as, like a baby deer in 2 inch heels, James took a few nervy steps. Those nervy steps soon found their rhythm. James began to dance. Sudenly the crowd of dancing, moving people didn't bother him. He was one of them. When they moved, he moved. When the music got to them, it got to him too. He bumped hard into other people but each bump felt like a pat on the back. Every person there was a friend. Every bar of repetetive house music was another chance to revel in the overwhelmingly happy glow that radiated out from the base of his skull, down his spine and out to his painted finger tips. He threw his head back. The large 3 inch hoops in each one of his ears brushed against the nape of his neck, dislodging sweat and sending it rolling down his back. His eyes closed. In the darkness the music seemed to intensify. The rhythm seemed to dig itself even further into him. He lifted his arms back above his head, the heavy bangle on his wrist sliding down towards his elbow. His hips swayed and bounced with every beat, and his back arched pushing his chest out slightly. Craig watched, transfixed by the writhing, dancing boy in front of him. The music's pace quickened. James' shoulders rocked back and forth in time with the music. He stumbled a little on the balls of his feet, tripping slightly and once again falling into the arms of Craig. He snaked his head from side to side, not noticing or caring as the taller, muscular man span him around and pulled him backwards, planting his behind onto the hard crotch that was waiting for him. James felt the pressure between his cheeks. He knew what was expected of him in this situation. Any control he might have had had been eroded by the chemicals in his brain. He bent forwards slightly, the feeling on his ass stronger as his angle changed. He pushed back slightly and began to sway just a little. Inside his head, a small part of James knew this was wrong. This wasn't who he was. He wasn't someone who ground other men in clubs. He wasn't someone who danced like no one was watching. This wasn't him, but he didn't care. He liked this version of himself. He was having fun. For the first time in his life he had completely let himself go. The drugs had helped but he couldn't attribute all this feeling to them. This was freedom. Freedom from caring. Just like Isabella had promised. He was on the same level as everyone else. On the same level as Craig. On the same level as his friends...His friends. Like an arrow through the air of ecstatic fuzz in his brain he remembered his friends. He still hadn't found them. They were still out there, somewhere on the floor. He wanted to find them. To share this feeling with them. To see Dale. To let them know about the level they were all sharing. While he was still taken by the music, the presence of the hard cock wedged against his arse was suddenly unwelcome. He pulled away from Craig and spun around to look at him, his dark glittered eyes sparkling in the moving lights. "Sorry, I have to go," Craig's face dropped, as much as anyone's face could drop while that high, "Just to the toilet" It took a little more of a tug for James to release himself from Craig's grip as he would have liked. He didn't look back as he pushed his way out of the dancefloor. It was a little harder to find the toilets than it had been. His brain had seemed to decide that retaining the layout of the club wasn't a priority. He span around on his heels, his head still buzzing. After a little searching he found them, tucked away in the corner by the table he had been sat upon before. He pushed the heavy toilet door open to be greeted by the loud gaggle of conversing girls, queuing for any available toilet stall. "Typical," he muttered to himself, "there's always a queue." He joined the end of the line and aimlessly gazed around the room. The muffled sound of the music just about penetrated the walls of the bathroom, sending his foot tapping along. By the row of sinks a group of three girls were huddled together, taking turns to glance over in the direction of James. They were whispering something to each other. James reckoned it was about him. The effects of the drugs must have been more noticable than he had realised. He made a genuine attempt to pull his face into something more presentable. He didn't succeed. His eyes were still wide and staring. His jaw still slightly off to one side. The girls carried on whispering. It was a great relief when the stall nearest to James flung open and became free. James turned away from the bowl, relieved that this toilet was not nearly as disgusting as the one before. He undid his thin, leather belt and pulled his jeans down to around his knees, a task made much harder by their tightness. They were hardly jeans at all. More like leggings. Reaching down between his legs he undid the clasp on the bottom of his halter bodysuit. He loved wearing it. Yes, it showed off a lot of skin, leaving his entire back exposed, but on a night like this it was the perfect thing to wear. Plus, he hadn't been this skinny in ages. He had been putting the effort in for weeks. Why couldn't he show off a little? He wiggled his behind back and forth a little as he slid his black, lace panties down his legs and sat down heavily, still feeling the warmth of the girl before him on his bare ass. He pointed the tip of his small, thin cock down towards the water and relieved himself the best that he could. He found the best that he could do wasn't a lot. Apparently his body needed the water. The drugs had made sure of that. The group of girls that were gathered around the sinks were no where to be seen when James emerged from the cubicle. He had to admit to himself, he was relieved. He rubbed some of the cold water onto his hands before spreading them across the back of his neck in an attempt to cool off. It was an attempt in vain. As he dropped his arm by his side and moved towards the door he caught a glimpse of himself in the smudged and stickered bathroom mirror. He hadn't seen himself all night. Something was off about the way he looked. Curious, he approached the flat, cold surface and leaned in close. There was definitely something wrong, he just couldn't figure out what. The effects of the drugs were certainly showing. There was no iris in his eyes. Only pupil. His jaw hung limply below his face and he found it difficult to close it. His forehead glistened with sweat. But there was something else. Something deeper to his face that didn't quite seem right. He leaned in even closer, his nose an inch from the glass. His face seemed a different shape. It was thin, tapered to a soft heart shape at the chin. It was smaller, somehow, he thought. Was it? No, it had always been this shape, surely? People's faces don't just change shape. His shoulder length hair was pushed behind his ears and off over one shoulder. It was long. Longer than he had ever realised. He should cut it, shouldn't he? It seemed a shame really. Even in this sweaty, matted state James found himself admiring the cut and length. His wide eyes were rimmed by smudged, black make up, that had begun to run sligtlhy down his face. He cursed himself. He knew the sweat running down from his forehead wouldn't be good for his look but he never expected it to be this bad. How could he have let it get such a mess? He had spent almost an hour this evening applying it before meeting the other boys. His cherry pink lip gloss still shimmered in the cold, harsh light of the bathroom, but it certainly needed touching up. James remembered the spare tube of gloss he had brought safetly tucked away in his handbag. A handbag that was itself safetly tucked away in the cloak room. He cursed himself once again. James straightened up a little. The more he looked at his face the less convinced he became there was anything amiss. Other than his smudged make up, he looked just as he done before leaving for the taxi earlier in the evening. It was just the drugs. Standing up to his full height he took the opportunity to take a proper look at himself. He really had done well to get his weight down. His flat stomach looked amazing in the skin tight fabric of the halter. He smiled to himself, satisfied, before reaching into the front of the top and adjusting his small breats in the concealed in built cups and heading back out into the club, determined to find his friends. The club and the dancefloor had mercifully began to thin out somewhat as James reamerged into the heat and noise. Absent mindedly he considered what time it was. It must be late. At least it would make finding people easier, he reasoned. His head felt a little light, his stomach a little empty. His nipples itched. Walking past a table, James spotted a bottle of water, still sealed. Perfect. His mouth felt like he had licked a sand dune. He took big, greedy gulps as he tottered back towards the slightly lesser throngs of people. He would make his way around the edge and try and spot the boys first. He didn't manage more than a few steps before he felt his wrist grabbed by large, muscular fingers. James was forcibly span around and pulled into the sweaty, hot embrace of Craig. "Hello love!" The same hand that had gripped his wrist only seconds earlier now slid swiflty to James' ass and squeezed tightly. Craig's face was contorted into a horrible shape. His mouth hung open and his jaw was almost swinging the width of his shoulders. One eye rolled back, and hid under the upper eyelid while the other was still wide and stared straight ahead. His whole head swung back and forth on a neck as rigid as spaghetti. Whatever drugs he had taken had really left their mark. His few words were slurred and almost imcomprehensible "Fucking, where's your friends?" James pushed hard against the taller boys chest, trying to get away from the vice like grip that held him, "I thought you were with friends. Why'd you tell me you were?" "Look just get off me!" "No!" His delivery was childlike. The kind of way a two year old says no. James pushed hard again. "Get the fuck off me! I am with friends!" "No you're not! Where are they then? You're just trying to get rid of me." James smashed a closed fist down hard on Craig's chest. Nothing, "I've got you now though." With that Craig lifted the smaller boy clean of his heels. Still clasping James' behind he started towards a darker corner of the club, one with very few people. James kicked hard against Craig' shin. He dug his sharpened nails into the flesh on the arm that held him tightly. He scraped the heel of his stilleto shoe hard against Craig's tree trunk legs. If Craig felt any of it, he didn't show it. Instead he marched ever forwards towards the dark corner of the club. James felt the impact and the wet brickwork against his exposed back as Craig found nowhere further to walk. James watched in horror as the large shaved scalp of the man who had carried him over leant down towards him. Craigs mouth landed on the side of James' neck. His kisses were wet and strong. James strained hard against the grip Craig had him in, ultimately only to expose more neck for the kisses to land on. Still he kicked and punch and hit. Still nothing. The sharp pain of Craig's bite against his soft flesh stopped him. What was the point? There was no way to fight this. James' arms dropped a little. His body went a little limp. The hand that was not gripping his ass began to crawl upwards. Disgusted, he felt Craig's fingers brush against his stomach and exposed arm, eventually finding their way to his left breast. Craig grabbed at the soft flesh under the halter top. A handful at least. James had always had large breasts for a boy his age. Craig seemed to enjoy every inch of them. James didn't even move when the large, ape like hand moved even further upwards and grabbed his chin. He offered little little resistance as his whole head was turned forcibly towards the slurping, biting mouth of Craig. James could smell the booze on his breath. He shut his eyes tight, knowing what was coming. As his lips met Craig's the first thing he noticed was the stubble. It grazed hard against the skin above his mouth, leaving it red and sore. James body became rigid again. His muffled protestaions would be impossible to hear over the thumping bass of the music. As the wet, hot muscle of Craig's tongue forced itself into James' mouth he resigned himself full to what was to come. But it never came. Where Craig's face and lips and breath had once been there was nothing. Only space. James felt no tall, strong pressure pushing him up against the wall. Craig was gone. His eyes opened, gingerly. The sight that greeted him was nothing but a relief. In front of him, facing away, stood the panting, angry form of Dale. Craig lay, spead eagled, on the floor trying desperately to get to his feet but finding his limbs unwilling to co operate. Eventually he managed the scramble upright. A small clearing had formed in the sea of dancers around the two youong men. "What the fuck are you doing?" "You stay the fuck away from her!" James had never seen Dale this angry before. "Shut up!" Craig stumbled towards where James stood only to find his way blocked by Dale who pushed back a few steps. Craig was lucky not find himself back on the ground, somehow manging to keep his balance. "I said stay away from her!" This time Craig's eyes focused as best as they could on Dale. He swayed backwards as he pointed himself towards the man who stood between him and his prize. His fists clenched tight as he breathed in deeply, rearing to his full height. He steadied himself, ready to end Dale. Fortunately for the younger of the two, the punch he attempted to deliver was clumsy and wild. It was so telegraphed that even if he had reached Dale it could have been easily dodged. As it was he hit only air, the momentum of the swing sending him lurching forwards and tripping on a discarded beer can. Even with the loud music the thud as his forehead hit the floor was audible. This time he didn't get up. Two bouncers, who had been forcing their way over to the comotion, scooped the unconcious man off the floor and carried him towards the exit, ignoring the relieved and pumped Dale behind. He turned around slowly. "Jamie?" The young girl stood stock still. Her arms were crossed across her stomach and her knees were held together. Her breathing was short and her ample bosom rose and fell with each breath. Dale could see she was on the edge of tears. Carefully, he reached out an arm and held one of her small hands. She took slow steps, following Dale over towards a nearby sofa. Her behind landed hard on the leather surface, her face pointed downwards, staring at her own feet. Feet that still tapped rythmically along to the music. "Jamie, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you!" She didn't answer. Craig might currently be passed out cold on the wet, concrete outside the club but she could still feel his wet kisses on the side of her neck, his rough hands on her breast. Dale had still not let go of her hand. He hated himself for not finding her sooner, although ho knows what would have happened if he had been any later. "Jamie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner. If I'd have known you were with him I would have..." He trailed off. What would he have done? He didn't even know himself. The young girl didn't look up. She couldn't bring herself to even glance at him. He knew he had let her down. He had left her alone in the club, a place she never even wanted to come to. It was clear that she had taken the drugs. Drugs that he and the rest of the boys had pressured her into. The guilty knot in his stomach twisted tighter. "I'm sorry we left you, Jamie." He paused. "I'm sorry I left you. I know this isn't your thing. I know you dont like clubs or crowds, and I know you didn't want to try the drugs. I shouldn't have let Scott talk to you like he did. I never should have pushed you so hard to do it." His head dropped too. Slowly, he began to release his soft grip on the girls hand. Jamie gripped tighter. She turned her head towards his. Her round, dark eyes glittered with tears, wide and deep. Dale had always loved her eyes. "Don't be stupid." Dale's heart jumped at the sound of her voice, "You didn't make me do anything. You know how stubborn I can be, how much I love to tell everyone how I don't like these sorts of nights. If I really hadn't wanted to take the drugs I really wouldn't have." "I know, but I pushed..." Her squeezed tightly, stopping Dale in his track. "It was me," Jamie spoke slowly and purposefully. "I chose to take the drugs and I'm glad I did." "Ok." Dale relented. "Thanks for hitting that prick as well." She smirked a little. Dale's heart fluttered a little further upwards. Jamie lifted her hand to her face and wiped away the tears from the corner of her eye, further smudging the black powder across her face. She sniffed loudly and hugged her arms around herself. A little shiver ran down to the base of her spine. "I think it might be wearing off." She spoke to no one in particular but shuffled slightly further towards Dale and lay her head softly upon his shoulder, "I'm not feeling anywhere as happy as I was before. I feel sort of heavy." You're not feeling ill, are you?" Dale looked down at her, genuine worry in his voice. "No, not ill. Just sort of..." Jamie stook her tongue out a blew a loud raspberry, before lifting her head and burying her face into her hands, "What a shit end to the night." "It doesn't have to be." "Really? Why not?" Jamie's face was stilled cupped in her hands, her voice muffled. There was no reply from Dale. Lifting her head she found him staring down and his own closed fist. As she stared he opened it slowly, revealing one single white pill. "It's my last one. We could share it," he optioned, before franctically attempting to reassure Jamie that he wasn't pushing her into it. "Only if you want to though. I'm not actually that bothered. W ecould go home now if you want, if you're not feeling up to it. It's just that it has been a bit of a shit end to the night and the clubs open for another hour so I thought maybe..." "Ok." "What?" "Ok. Let's do it." Jamie smiled a warm smile up at Dale's sweaty, red face. "Are you sure? We don't have to, just so you know." Wordlessly Jamie reached out and took the pill from Dale between her thumb and forefinger. She tugged a little on both ends, snapping the pill and sending a minute, dancing cloud of powder up into the colourful, warm air of the club. With no hesitation the pill was in her mouth and down her throat. She handed the other half back to Dale, never once taking her eyes of his shocked face. As she heaved herself back onto her heels, she held her hand out to the boy. An invitation. "Come on. Let's go." Dale swalloed the other half of the pill. It took a lot less time for the drugs to kick in this time.The dancefloor was much less crowded than it had been earlier, most people having succumbed to the late hour, or lack of chemical motivation. It had been much easier to find their friends this time. Scott and Mark still seemed as giddy as they had been when the drugs first hit. The wiry, sweaty hug from Scott let Jamie know that any argument they might have had earlier had been long forgotten. She was glad. They were friends. This was how things should be. Assad stood a little further from the rest, the girl from before holding him tightly, wide eyed and buzzing. It seemed the boys had managed to convince her of the advantages of ecstacy. Jamie had to admit, she was extremely happy to have another girl there, and the half-heard conversations, shouted across the music of the club still rang in her ears hours later, conversations full of compliments on hair, clothes and make up. Conversations about how much they loved each other and how they would always be friends. Conversations over spilling with positivity and happiness. The kind of conversations drug takers have. Jamie and Dale spent most of the rest of the night together. As the waves of ecstacy washed over them they danced and stumbled about each other, supporting each others erratic movements, stopping each other from falling. They laughed and smiled and moved together. They hugged each other. At points they kissed. Jamie wasn't sure how many times, or for how long. Her memory was still fuzzy as the last hour of the night swirled about her and she lay against his chest on the bus ride home. His arm was wrapped round her pulling her close, his lips periodically against her forehead leaving small, soft kisses. A lovely hum radiated across her legs. After hours of dancing they were allowed to rest. The small, contented smile was hard to wipe from her face. Her eyes shut, lazily enjoying the soft white light of the bus and the muffled hustle of giddy revellers travelling home around her. She thought back to Isabella. Who the hell was she? Did Jamie really care? S