She told herself she was only going out to get away from the fight. One year and some change together, the same cheap apartment, the same argument that had finally grown teeth. Maria left in the black backless top he liked and the shorts she put on without checking the mirror twice. She was still angry. The anger made her walk like she had somewhere better to be.

The club was loud enough that she would not have to hear her own head. She was not looking for anyone. That was what made people look. Two guys her age slid in beside her the way men do when they have practiced looking accidental. Easy jokes. A dance she would have shut down before the sentence finished on any other night. Tonight the no did not come out.

What happened on that floor was not dancing for long. A hand where the fabric ended. Then lower. Then the kind of attention a crowded room is not supposed to allow, the kind her body answered before her pride could catch up. When they asked her to come with them — quieter, ten minutes off campus — she knew what quieter meant. She told herself it was only the rest of the night.