Fragile

Chapter 1

I used to have a strange phobia of clubs. I hated the bright, flashing lights that adorn every wall, and the deafening thud of the music they play much too loud. Actually, the whole idea of a hundred sweaty strangers grinding on each other all night in a room that smells of puke and vodka both intimidated and disgusted me.

Needless to say, when my friend Camila showed up at my door dressed up in what appeared to be nothing more than a scrap of clothing, I was much more than reluctant. "A new club just opened up right down the street!" She could barely contain the giddiness in her voice.

"And?" I asked, waiting for her to get to the point.

"I got both of us on the list!" Camila squealed. I groaned, not even making an attempt to fake happiness. Camila of all people should have known that social interaction wasn't my forte.

"Well, you're going to have to find another guest." I said. I watched as the light drained from Camila's face.

"You haven't stepped out of your apartment in ages!" Camila argued, shoving a bundle of cloth and sequins into my hands. "This will be fun!" I began to focus less on the matter at hand, and more on the fact that she seemed to emphasize the last word in each of her sentences.

"I have a feeling we have contradicting opinions of what fun is." I said blandly, watching the color fade out of her blue eyes. "Besides, I'm the last person you want to take to a club."

"Not true." Camila began. "You're the only person I want to take to a club. Especially considering you haven't even talked to a member of the opposite sex in ages. You're 19 years old, live a little!"

I sighed. Mainly because it was true, I hadn't been in a relationship since I'd moved to New York, which was well over two years ago. Also, because of the unnecessary emphasis she apparently enjoyed placing on words. "Fine, I'll go." I breathed, taking the dress from Camila. Letting out a small shriek, she began to explain to me everything she had planned for the night.

Half listening, I squeezed into the dress. It was tight, red, and slightly longer than the loincloth Camila was wearing. Upon stepping out of the bathroom, I earned an approving smile from Camila, and an extremely emphatic, "I love it!"

"I wish I could say the same." I mumbled under my breath. Camila didn't notice, she was too busy applying a fresh layer of lipstick.

"Lets just get this over with." I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. Silently, we made our way down to the busy street, where we hailed a cab. Before we got in, Camila grabbed my arm. "At least try to have fun tonight, okay?" She smiled reassuringly, and loosened her grip.

I smiled weakly, and nodded. We both settled into our seats, and looked out the windows for the beginning of the silent cab ride. When we were about halfway there, my mind began to wander. Maybe I shouldn't have left my apartment today. As if on cue, Camila nudged me. "Did you remember to take your medication?" She whispered.

I gave her a hard stare, and bit my lip. "Yes," I lied. I actually hadn't taken it for a month. It wasn't that I didn't want to feel normal. All I wanted was to feel normal, but I didn't want to have to ingest a bottle of pills to get there. Many argued that I didn't even need medication in the first place, and that anxiety isn't an illness. But they were never there for me when I wouldn't step foot outside. They were never there when I couldn't sleep for days at a time, afraid of a thousand things that would never happen. The only person there was me, and I intended for it to stay that way.

Camila looked at me suspiciously, but shrugged it off. "Good, I'm proud of you." I knew she could see directly through my deceit, but she had apparently decided not to call me out on it. That was one of the moments I was grateful for having Camila as a friend. She wasn't the brightest, but she always seemed to know the right thing to say to me. I'd always wanted to ask her why she even wanted to be friends with me in the first place. We were polar opposites. Camila was beautiful and outgoing, and I wasn't. When she walked into a room, all eyes fell on her. When I walked into a room, I was most often ignored. Still, she insisted on befriending me, and I didn't question it.

By the time we reached the club, it had started to rain. Camila stuck her head out the window and looked up at the sky, as if she was questioning the weather gods. "Rain? I didn't even see any clouds!" She pulled her head back inside the car, and wiped a raindrop from her cheek.

"Sometimes, Mother Nature just likes to screw with us." I rolled my window down, allowing a few drops to pelt me in the face, and closed my eyes. I never minded rain. If anything, the sight of people retreating into their apartments and hiding under umbrellas made me feel safe.

"Are you ready to go inside?" I noticed Camila was already hanging outside the taxi, waiting for me to snap out of my daze. I blushed and slid out of my seat, not looking at the driver. My heart was already beating fast, and the rain was doing nothing to retard it.

"Why didn't you tell me I was daydreaming?" I whispered to Camila. She laughed softly, and patted me on the back.

"You looked so peaceful." Camila said. "We can all use a little peace sometimes." I sighed, and turned my head to face the ground. The thump of the bass grew louder and louder as we neared the entrance of the club, until it was almost unbearable. The club's front door was guarded by a large man dressed in a black suit, his face hidden by oversized sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses at night? Camila gave him our names, and he stepped aside so we could pass through. I took a deep breath, and we began to navigate ourselves through the maze of overplayed music and drunken college kids with fake ID's.

Almost immediately, an attractive man had asked Camila to dance. She looked to me for approval, and I gave her a slight smile. I didn't want to hold her back from having a good time. When she was no longer in sight, my heart began to beat faster. "Control yourself," I whispered under my breath. I retreated to the other end of the club, where it was slightly less crowded, and sat down at an empty table. Finally able to breath, I began to scope out the place.

It was a fairly large club, with a considerable sized bar area in the center. Men dressed in suits dominated the bar, offering to buy a drink for any girl without male company. Underage clubgoers sipped at virgin margaritas, pretending they were buzzed. I was in the safest zone, towards the back exit, where tired couples sat talking about house payments, and pondered why they agreed to let their single friends drag them there. Although out of place, I felt more comfortable than I ever had in a heavily populated area. That was, until I saw him.

He was no more than ten feet away from me, staring down at his nearly empty drink. I felt odd staring at him, but I couldn't bring myself to look away. He had a head full of curls, and green eyes that flashed when the lights hit them. Setting down his drink, he looked up, and met my eyes. I managed a smile, and he returned it, revealing two perfect dimples.

"Kitt?" A hand touched my shoulder, and I jumped. It was Camila, her forehead shining with sweat. "I was so worried about you!"

"I'm sure you were." I replied, eyeing the man hanging on her shoulder. He was staring off into the distance, obviously wasted.

"I was just wondering if you'd be alright if I went over to Robert's house." She gestured to the drunk man. "He wants to show me his record collection."

"I'm sure he does." I tried to look past her, so I could see the mysterious man again. "Do whatever you want." Camila looked at me awkwardly, and shrugged.

"Okay, well if anything happens, you know how to reach me." She gave me a quick hug, and then dissappeared back into the night. Immediately, I turned around. To my dismay, the man was gone, nothing but his drink sitting on the empty table. I tried not to feel too bad, because even if I had worked up the courage to talk to him, what would I have said? There was another tap at my shoulder.

"What is it Camila?" I began to turn around, when I realized it wasn't Camila. It was him. Speechless, I stared into his bright eyes.

"Hello." He said. I noticed he had a British accent, and I wondered if he was here visiting. "I'm Harry."