The air is thick with excitement and hormones, rising up from the bodies of three hundred dancing students. Drunk, high, in search of a good time. We’re almost desperate in our need to celebrate, to feel young and free. We want to steal the night and take it as ours, because over the next few days we will be leaving, packing up our things and going home.
So we dance and we drink and we swallow and we do everything we know we shouldn’t.
A makeshift stage has been set up in the grounds. The music pumping out of the big black speakers takes on a life of its own. Snaking around our bodies and soaking into our skins. Pulsing through our veins until we become an organic, sweaty mass. Jumping on the soft grass, our hair swinging, we scream out the words until our throats protest and our lungs threaten to explode.
Niall’s arms are locked around my waist, his palms resting on my stomach. They feel sweaty and warm but I don’t push them away. Instead, I lean against him and let him pull me with the crowd, until we are part of a huge wave of bodies that ebb and flow with the music.
We’re rolling, and it feels so good it makes my skin tingle. The way we dance and move is sensuous; an orgy without the sex. Beads of perspiration soak my hairline before pouring down my cheeks. I wipe them away, too busy dancing to even care what I look like.
To my left, I notice Digby has stopped jumping with the music. His face is almost bloated, but his lips are pale and blue. Though he isn’t dancing anymore, his body is still moving, being pushed to and fro by the crowd like a piece of flotsam on the tide.
“Are you okay?” I have to shout it twice. I lean in to him and touch his arm. It feels like fire.
“Yeah, I just need to take a break.” He’s still swaying. “I’m going to get a drink.”
I open my mouth to offer to go with him, but the music changes and Niall’s arms tighten around my waist. I turn to look at him, and he’s smiling down at me, and for a moment it bleaches the thoughts right out of my brain. All I can focus on is his mouth. I press my own lips against it, closing my eyes, feeling the fire light up inside my belly.
When I open them, Digby is gone. I tell myself he’ll be fine, that he’ll get a drink and come back and we will all be dancing again, celebrating the final hours of our hedonistic freedom. There’s no point in looking for him, he could be anywhere, doing anything, and he’ll be back in a few minutes.
Of course, he isn’t.