ASHTON
The music at Blue Cove used to feel like oxygen when my brothers and I haunted this club. Tonight, it feels like noise.
Bass rolls through the club in thick waves, vibrating through the polished wood of the bar and crawling up my spine, but it barely registers in my soul. People are laughing somewhere behind me, clinking their glasses. A group near the dance floor erupts into drunken cheers as the DJ switches tracks.
Yet, all of it feels distant to me, almost muted, like I'm sitting underwater while the rest of the world continues above the surface. A waitress sets a fresh bottle of whiskey in front of me. I hadn't even realized I ordered another.
The amber liquid glows under the low blue lighting, rich and expensive and completely untouched.
