FORTY-FOUR - BEFORE

By the time it was time to wrap up the pregame and head on to the actual party, Hanna could barely stand.

"Josh."

I was trying to catch his attention, but that was easier said than done when the right half of my body was occupied keeping both of Hanna's feet on the ground and he kept vanishing like a wisp of smoke. Every time I caught a glimpse of his whitened smile or heard the tail end of his thunderous laugh, I thought I had him—but once I'd warned Hanna about the change in direction and helped her stagger over, he disappeared again.

It also didn't help that said girl was completely uncooperative. Apparently, she could stand, and was capable of getting herself to the party without any help whatsoever, but I'd yet to see much evidence of that. And there was no way I was leaving her unsupervised.

Whether she'd taken the pill from Josh already, I didn't know, but I was also too scared to ask. There'd been plenty of opportunity; I hadn't been able to keep eyes on either of them for long this evening. It wasn't like she needed anything on top of all the alcohol. Anybody could see that.

The hopeful part of me insisted Josh had too, and made the executive decision that she didn't need anything stronger.

It was the other part that kept my lips sealed.

"Josh!"

This time, I noticed him emerging from his bedroom, and my voice carried well enough for his head to jerk in our direction. Once our eyes met, he didn't really have any choice but to head over.

"What's up?" he said coolly. "You ready to go?"

"Uh... not exactly."

"Why?"

I thought it was obvious. "Does Hanna look like she's ready?"

"Ready for what?" she slurred beside me.

"See what I mean?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if it's such a good idea for her to go."

"To the party?" It suddenly clicked for Hanna what I was talking about. "No, it is a good idea. In fact, it's a great idea. Let's go right now."

"Well, there you have it." Josh shrugged nonchalantly. "She's all good."

"No," I said, as I felt Hanna start trying to wriggle away. "This really isn't a good idea. She can barely stand. Why doesn't she stay here and lie down in your bedroom? I don't mind skipping to keep an eye on her."

Honestly, the thought of staying put in Josh's quiet apartment, with Hanna sleeping soundly and his TV for company, was more appealing than the wildest party he could offer. Not that I would ever admit it aloud.

"Hey, hey, you can't skip," Josh said. "We're celebrating, remember? What if David Stephenson's there and Hanna misses her chance to rub it in his face?"

Obviously, this brought her to life. "No," she said, pulling away successfully this time. Although wobbly, she did manage to stay upright and on two feet. "I am not missing that. I want to look that asshole in the eye when I tell him to go fuck himself."

Josh smirked. But I was less amused.

"Hanna..."

"I'm fine," she told me. "You want to skip? Go ahead. But I'm going and nobody can stop me."

"Can't argue with that," Josh said. "So, you coming?"

His breezy tone made it sound like I had a choice. But the burn of his unwavering gaze said something different. Sure, he wouldn't stop me from staying here if I decided that was what I wanted, but I would pay for it later in stone-cold silence and an inevitable disagreement. We'd already had one of those tonight. I didn't have the strength for another.

I nodded. "Sure. Yeah."

***

Later on, I started to feel a little strange.

Maybe it was the deafening music, the choked air—or maybe I had some kind of migraine coming on. If so, this was the worst place for me to be, but my chances of an exit anytime soon were slim. I couldn't leave Hanna, who was somewhere in the crowd and probably getting herself into trouble. Nor could I leave without Josh, since I was staying the night at his apartment and didn't have my own key.

But I also couldn't keep hold of them, either.

Standing alone in a stranger's crowded living room, I blinked, and my vision swum before me. The dark apartment became a mass of shapes: blurry and quavering and resisting focus wherever I tried to look. I reached out and grabbed onto a door frame to steady myself. Then a wave of nausea hit, and I had to close my eyes to stop the room from spinning.

"Are you okay?"

Someone's voice sounded behind me. One I didn't recognize, but was full of concern. It took a couple of seconds before I felt well enough to open my eyes again.

"Yeah," I said, turning around slowly. "I'm good."

"Hey, I know your face. You're Josh's chick, aren't you?"

Now I thought about it, the guy's shaved head and broad shoulders did look vaguely familiar: I was sure I'd seen him hanging out at Josh's apartment at some point or another. But the most we'd exchanged was a polite hello. I didn't even know his name.

"Yeah, that's me," I said distractedly, still leaning on the kitchen door frame. Another wave of nausea came on thick and fast, and right then all I could think about was where to throw up at a moment's notice. "I, uh—excuse me."

It barreled up my throat without warning, and I darted toward the only thing in my eyeline that was vaguely appropriate: the kitchen sink. I stumbled over my own feet trying to make it there, my lower abdomen colliding with the edge of the basin as I emptied my guts into it.

A few hollow cheers went up around me.

"Whoa." The guy stepped closer, although careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Had one too many, huh?"

But that was the weird thing: I hadn't had one in the first place. The most damage I could've done tonight was from the sugar in a bottle of vanilla Coke. But this was far from a sugar rush.

When my head didn't emerge from the sink, the guy stopped laughing.

"Do you want me to call somebody? Josh, or...?"

"Do you know where Josh is?"

"Uh..." He paused. "I'm not totally sure. I saw him around earlier, but that was a while back. I think maybe he went out for a smoke."

The nausea remained relentless, arriving in waves that made me weak at the knees, but at least my stomach was empty. I could lift my head, albeit with one hand raised for support since too much movement felt like it would split my skull open.

"It's okay," I said. "I'll find him."

I may have stopped puking, but if I thought this weird episode was about to release its hold on me, I had a nasty shock on the way. As I staggered back to the living room, the change in environment was a torturous attack on my senses. Lightning bolts of pain shot through my head to the rhythm of the music, while my lungs constricted in response to stale air. Even the dark room felt like blinding sunlight; I had to squint my eyes to avoid passing out.

What the hell was happening?

Was this a sudden migraine or—

... Surely not?

Had... Josh slipped something into my drink?

What if there'd been a shot of alcohol in every cup of Coke he dutifully brought over, hidden behind artificial vanilla flavoring? What if his whole apology had been nothing more than a fabrication—rather a convenient cover story while he set about trying to liven me up?

No.

He wouldn't.

But what if...?

No. I couldn't think about that right now. I was too vulnerable here to cut off one of the people I trusted most. If I didn't have Josh with me while I struggled to keep a grip on consciousness, who was left? Hanna wasn't fit to look after herself, let alone anyone else. If I pulled away from Josh now, for tonight at least, it would be more dangerous than staying.

With fresh resolve, I felt my way to the front door of the apartment and surfaced in the gloomy corridor. Tonight the rumors had proved true: the building was pretty much all Davidson students, which meant the party spanned not just several apartments but several floors as well. I wasn't looking for another one, though. I wanted fresh air and my feet on the ground, which is why I moved for the elevator and stumbled inside.

Swooping down four floors made my stomach churn harder, but I kept it together and made it the bottom. One push through the main doors and then I was outside. There were a few stragglers out here, mostly in small groups and taking long drags from cigarettes while music pulsed from above, but Josh didn't jump out at first glance.

I stepped out onto the street to check around the sides of the building. No luck.

Although the fresh air helped, there was a bitter chill to the breeze: it was unusually cold for spring. And were those... snowflakes beginning to fall? I squinted at my sleeve, trying to inspect the white specks through blurred vision, and then a shiver racked my body. I couldn't stay out here forever.

Josh wasn't here. I had to admit defeat.

It was as I turned to head inside that I bumped into two other familiar faces.

"Cat!" I said, because she was the one who looked up first. The other took longer, as her back was hunched and she was spewing the contents of her stomach over a drain. "Hanna? Are you okay?"

She either didn't hear me or was too preoccupied to answer.

"I think someone went a little overboard," Cat said. One of her hands was clutched at the back of Hanna's head, holding her hair back in a makeshift ponytail, while the other scraped back strands that kept falling forward. "Get it all up, girl. You'll feel better."

"What happened?"

"I found her in a bathroom. Slumped over the toilet, looking worse for wear. Thought she could do with some water and fresh air."

She gestured to the Solo cup at her feet, full to the brim—and carefully out of the firing line of Hanna's puke.

"Let me take over," I told her, already stepping closer. "You go back and enjoy the party. She's my roommate, so maybe I should help her home—"

As if on cue, Hanna gave another almighty retch. Her whole body contorting with the reflex, she slammed a hand onto the concrete wall to steady herself. "Ugh..."

"I'm not sure she's in a fit state to even get home," Cat pointed out. "I sure as hell wouldn't want to risk that cab fine, and I don't want to put that on you. Look, I know one of the girls who lives in the building, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind letting Hanna crash in her room for a couple of hours. There's a bathroom in there, she'll be out of everyone else's way, and we can keep a close eye on her. Once she's feeling a little less pukey, I'll take her up there."

I hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, Morgan," she said, with a smile. "I'll handle it. I'll text you if I need anything—but in the meantime, go have fun. I'm sure Josh is somewhere looking for you."

I wished she was right. But if he really was searching for me, I was sure we would've crossed paths by now. It was only one building: the only way we could've avoided each other for so long was if one of us didn't want to be found.

That was when Cat started looking at me funny. "Hey." She frowned. "You okay?"

Her face slipped out of focus and back again.

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head in an effort to snap out of it. "I'm fine."

I really wasn't, but it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with her then. If the suspicion had wormed its way into my brain, the same might happen to her—and I didn't want this to slip beyond my control before I'd had a chance to talk to Josh. He probably had nothing to do with this weird spaced-out episode. In fact, I was almost sure he didn't. How I was going to erase that final sliver of doubt was another matter—but maybe if I found him and looked him in the eye it would disappear.

"I'll see you later," I told Cat. Then I turned and headed back toward the building.

By then my vision was worsening, and the brief respite from the pain in my head was to be paid for when it returned with a vengeance. I thought I was walking in a straight line, but then my sense of balance faltered and I realized I was staggering sideways. I also felt like I might puke again. Overall, I'd never felt so sick and so disoriented—let alone experienced such a sudden onset—and it scared me so much that I felt tears welling in my eyes.

"Holy fuck. Look at the state of you."

The familiar voice cut through the fuzz, and my head snapped in several wrong directions before finding the right one.

"Jesus. This is new."

"Josh?"

I blinked several times, trying to focus long enough to see whether the figure leaning lazily against the wall was the person I'd been looking for all along. But really, who else would it have been?

"Josh," I said, more certain now.

"I thought drinking wasn't your thing." He sounded amused as he stubbed out his cigarette and pushed himself up from the wall. "How come you changed your tune?"

"I haven't," I tried to say, but even I could hear how the words slurred together. "I don't know what happened—someone must've—"

He laughed, the sudden loud bark making me jump. "Okay. Yeah, sure."

"What?"

"It's okay, Morgan," he said. If only I could focus long enough to decipher the expression on his face. "You can admit it. I'm not going to judge you. I don't blame you for changing your mind and wanting to have some fun."

"I'm not—"

"I mean, it's hardly surprising your alcohol tolerance is a flat zero," he said. "Maybe you should have slowed it down on your first time. But everyone goes overboard sometimes. How else would you learn your limits?"

"Josh," I said, almost pleading. My legs were shaking now, barely able to hold my weight, and I could feel myself sinking closer and closer to the ground. "I'm not drunk. I don't know what's wrong. But it's getting worse, and I don't—please can you just take me home...?"

"Oh, come on, Morgan. Pull it together." He slid an arm under my armpit and hoisted me upward. "This is just what being drunk feels like. It's supposed to be fun. You might find you even enjoy this party a little more than usual."

"This isn't drunk."

"Well, how would you know?" With me back on my feet, he clamped two hands down on my shoulders like he was fixing me in place. "It's still early. Just stick it out for a couple more hours, okay? You'll be fine."

I wanted to protest, but it was like I could feel the strength physically leaving my body. All resistance disappeared as my vision continued to cloud over. Whether I was managing to stay standing independently or because Josh was holding me up, I could no longer tell. And I couldn't bring myself to care, either. It was easier to just let myself slip away, where I didn't have to focus or fight or resist, where the pain subsided as I succumbed to lack of consciousness. It was nice to slip away from the world, if only for a little while.

***

When I slipped back, everything had changed.

I was no longer outside, could no longer feel the bitter brush of snow against exposed skin. Instead there was the stiff fabric of over-washed bedsheets, the weight of impenetrable darkness, and a presence hovering above me.

When this registered, I tried to move—but my hands were quickly pinned above me.

The voice cut through the dark like a knife blade.

"Shh," Josh said. "Relax."

And the hand over my mouth killed my scream before it came to life.

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And there you have it: secret's out.

A few (actually, a LOT) of you saw this coming, and I realised once again that I am definitely not as good at shocking plot twists as I think I am 😅 But it also shows that you guys pay VERY close attention to the details of this story, and that makes it all worth it.

I'm really, really excited about posting this one. I hope the payoff was worth 43 chapters of tension -- so be sure to let me know in the comments!

Until next time...

- Leigh