Supernova [On Hiatus]

THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

I looked around frantically.

My heart had begun pounding in my chest. All around me were people who didn't pay an ounce of a mind towards the guy standing in the middle of the walkway with his head on a swivel. I didn't see him.

Maybe I'd imagined it. I should only be so lucky. With my luck, he'd be standing right behind me. I checked, though, and he wasn't. I had to have imagined it. The alcohol was making me hallucinate and I was having some weird flashback.

It was a mistake coming out. Getting hurt by Cash resurfaced all these feelings of heartbreak that it got me thinking about Jameson again.

"Cade?"

I snapped out of my trance, finding Mac walking towards me looking concerned. She grabbed my arms and walked me towards Dylan's table. I held my head in my hands and fell into one of the chairs.

"What's wrong?" Mac asked, sitting next to me.

Without replying, I snatched up my abandoned drink and chugged it down, not giving a shit that it made my belly swirl even more. She watched me with worry in her eyes, leaning on her hand as she waited for me to explain myself.

I glanced around again. "I thought I–" I stopped, drunkenly remembering that I can't mention the telepathy thing. "I thought I saw Jameson and got a little winded."

She looked around nosily, eyes scanning every crevice of the room from right to left. "You're probably drunk," she said after giving up on looking for the figment of my imagination. "Do you want another drink? Or a water?"

"Another sunrise, please," I smiled, ringing my fingers together.

I turned to face the dance floor, looking for the southern boy I was grinding on. Mostly because I forgot what he looked like already. He was still there, doing some cringey dance move with some girls who were eating it up.

When my eyes trailed over towards the bar to see how my drink was coming along, I froze in my spot. It was very possible I had imagined the voice in my head. But two hallucinations in one night was highly uncommon, especially when one of them was the unforgettable hazel eyes staring at me from across the room.

"No," I whispered. "This isn't happening."

My chest heaved when he started walking in my direction. I looked back at Dylan to check if he was seeing what I was seeing, but he was paying no mind to the fucking ghost walking towards us.

He was a few steps away. I was panicking. The music felt like it was louder than ever, the crowd closing in on me, ceiling lowering down.

I couldn't breathe.

Jameson . . .

He was here. My hands started shaking, legs suddenly feeling like jello. I wanted to yell out to Dylan, who was only a foot away, but my throat had dried. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where I couldn't land a punch.

And then he was right in front of me.

I felt like I was going to puke. I was definitely going to puke.

Without a word, I stood up and bolted for the door to the outside, not having enough time to make it to the bathroom. I had just made it to the decorative bushes on the side of the building when I hurled.

I dropped to my knees, cradling my head in my hands with a groan. There was no way I could go back in there, not if he's there. Seeing him again just triggered an anxiety attack. I was oddly thankful for throwing up because it stopped it before it got bad.