Page 38 of Relapse

By the time the sun starts melting properly into the ocean, Mina and I have somehow become emotionally codependent.

Not in a healthy way either.

More in a we’d absolutely help each other hide a body after knowing each other for twelve hours kind of way.

Which honestly feels healthier than most of my recent relationships, so.

Progress.

The festival sprawls endlessly around us, swallowing the coastline whole in neon and bass and sweat-slick bodies glittering beneath the dying heat. Massive stages rise out of the sand like alien gods, LEDs flashing through clouds of smoke while DJs violently rearrange everyone’s serotonin levels one bass drop at a time.

Everything feels alive here.

Too alive.

The drugs humming through my bloodstream turn the whole place soft around the edges, lights smearing together every time I move while the bass settles low inside my chest like a second heartbeat. The sand vibrates beneath my boots hard enough to feel it in my teeth, warm ocean wind sticking glitter to sweaty skin while fireworks crackle somewhere overhead despite the fact the sun hasn’t fully gone down yet because apparently this festival believes in sensory overload as a personality trait.

The cyanide sitting warm and floaty beneath my skin makes everything feel better and worse at the same time. Sharper somehow. Funnier. Brighter. Like the whole world’s vibrating slightly out of sync and instead of fixing it, my brain just shrugged and went:

Eh. Close enough.

Girls dance on strangers’ shoulders wrapped in rhinestones and fishnets like glitter-covered war criminals. Guys with painted faces stumble through the crowd carrying drinks bigger than their emotional support systems.

It smells like saltwater, sunscreen, weed, and vape smoke fighting for its fucking life in ninety-degree heat.

Basically heaven.

Or hell.

Hard to tell honestly.

Mina drags me through the crowd by the wrist while laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own platforms, dark ponytails whipping behind her dramatically every time she spins around to yell something at me over the music.

“You know what I love about festivals?” Mina shouts over the music while dragging me through the crowd by the wrist.

“The alarming lack of impulse control?”

She laughs. “Okay yes, obviously, but I mean this.” She gestures wildly around us at the chaos swallowing the beach whole. “Out there, everybody’s stressed or sad or pretending they have their shit together. Here? You just dance, get drunk, make terrible choices, and let the music chemically rearrange your emotions for a few hours.”

I glance around automatically.

Bodies grinding beneath flashing lights. Glitter sticking to sweaty skin. Bass vibrating hard enough through the sand to feel it in my teeth while smoke cannons explode over the crowd.

Everything feels loose here.

Weightless.

Like real life got temporarily suspended somewhere outside the festival gates.

Honestly?

I kinda get it.

Mina notices immediately and points at me dramatically. “See? That face right there. You get it.”

“I mean,” I yell back while somebody nearby almost lights their own fishnets on fire, “my answer was still drugs.”

“Well yeah,” she snorts. “That part’s implied.”