It’s supposed to be a fresh start.

After weeks of tension and the kind of loneliness that creeps in when you’re far from home, Fernanda finally gets a change of scenery. They’re in Myrtle Beach for the weekend—sun, music in the distance, and the promise that maybe, just maybe, the new beginning she hoped for will finally feel real.

But Fernanda knows something Jonathan doesn’t fully say out loud: she’s been trapped in her own thoughts. Lonely. On edge. And the trip—this weekend, this escape—has to do more than look fun. It has to save her mood. It has to pull her out of the place where her mind starts spiraling.

And so the plan is simple: tonight, they’re going out.

Jonathan and Fernanda aren’t just going “somewhere.” They’re going to a club—because clubs mean energy. Clubs mean dancing. Clubs mean forgetting everything for a few hours. Jonathan knows it. Fernanda knows it. Even the way the moment starts feels like a protective bubble: music, movement, and the idea that if they stay close enough, nothing can reach them.

“Remember how we met?” Jonathan teases as they get ready, like it’s a charm he can cast just by bringing up the past. Fernanda laughs, nodding along, trying to step into the version of herself who can just enjoy the night.

Inside, the vibe is what they came for—music loud enough to shake the worries off, people packed close together, and the DJ acting like the whole world depends on the next track. Fernanda’s attention drifts between the room and Jonathan, searching for that familiar comfort.

They even talk about the music like they have control—like they can request the right songs and turn the night into something tailored to them. Anything to keep the atmosphere from slipping.

But the air has its own tension, and it starts showing immediately.

Because even before the club gets loud, Fernanda’s thinking about time—and it’s not casual. She wants her night to move forward the right way, on schedule, with no delays. She’s ready to be out and free, dancing under lights, letting the music drown out the stress.

Then the problem hits.

Fernanda wants a shower.

Jonathan refuses—at least at first—because they don’t have time. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he knows they’ve got a strict window. They have to be out of there in thirty minutes. And Fernanda—who’s already trying to feel sexy, confident, and in control—can’t help it. This isn’t just “getting ready.” It’s her preparing her armor for the night.

“I work out hard,” she says, not shy about what she wants to show. “I like to be sexy and show my body.”

It should feel empowering.

Instead, it becomes a countdown.

The routine stretches longer than it should. Fans out, hair out, makeup carefully built—like if she stops for one second, the whole night will fall apart. Jonathan watches the clock while Fernanda continues preparing, and the tension grows in the tiny gaps between each step.

“Thirty minutes goes by,” Jonathan jokes, but there’s a truth under it. Fernanda is taking longer than she promised, and he’s getting impatient—because if she’s late, then their entire plan gets disrupted. And when plans get disrupted, feelings get messy.

And for Fernanda, messy feelings are dangerous.

By the time they finally head out, it’s clear she did manage to look good—really good. Jonathan keeps noticing her, like the effort was worth it. She’s confident now, dressed how she wants, finally ready to let go.

And the club pulls them in.

For a while, it works.

Fernanda forgets things when she’s dancing with Jonathan. She moves like the music is finally speaking her language, and she zones out from everything that’s been bothering her. Even when other people stare—when it’s obvious they’re watching—Fernanda isn’t trying to hide it. She’s enjoying the moment.

“I love dance,” she says, like she’s proving to herself that she can still feel alive.

And when she’s with Jonathan, it feels safer. Like they’re back in control. Like the world is just beat, rhythm, and shared attention.

But the night takes a turn the second alcohol enters the picture.

Fernanda has no interest in drinking. Not tonight. She’s made that boundary clear. She even makes it sound almost like a rule: the drinking age is different where she’s from—she knows how it works, she knows what’s normal—but in this moment, she doesn’t want it. Because she knows what alcohol does to Jonathan.

Alcohol