Maya dragged her out on Friday.
“You look like you’re dying,” her friend said, shoving a dress into Sia’s hands. Red, tight and revealing. “We’re getting you drunk and getting you laid by someone who isn’t family drama.”
Sia didn’t correct her, because she was right anyway.
The club was loud, dark, packed with bodies grinding and sweating. Maya bought shots, and Sia drank them one after another, letting the alcohol burn away her thoughts, her restraint, her loyalty to a man who was torturing her with silence.
Three drinks in, she was dancing. Four drinks in, a stranger’s hands were on her hips. Five drinks in, she was in the corner with a man she didn’t know, his mouth on her neck, his c**k hard against her hip.
“You’re beautiful,” he slurred, his hands roaming. “Want to get out of he
