Scott:Will do, my lovable munchkin.
Thomas:Urgh.
Scott grinned as he put his phone down on the floor. He reached for the first bag of balloons.
Ten in a pack.
With a sigh, he ripped it open.
It was going to be a long day.
Ninety-nine balloons surrounded Scott, all an assortment of rainbow colours. He held balloon number one hundred in his hand. He’d been holding it for the last twenty minutes, getting a little air into it and, in desperation, sucking it out again.
He was pretty sure he’d lost his mind.
The airy, detached feeling in his head had gone well past the point of light-headedness. Around balloon seventy, the hallucinations had kicked in.
He kept seeing faces on the balloons. Disapproving ones.
His phone started to ring, but it was buried beneath the balloons and he didn’t want to wade his hand through them to find it because they were angry with him.
Angry that he hadn’t blown up balloon number one hundred.
But his lungs refused to work, and his cheeks were numb.
He rocked forward and back and kept sucking the air back into his mouth from the balloon.
His fingers were sore from tying them.
There were too many colours.
He couldn’t feel his face.
“Christ alive,” Thomas grumbled from the doorway.
Scott carefully twisted to face him, letting the balloon drop from his dry lip. “Help…me.”
Thomas strode into the room, brushing balloons aside with his feet despite Scott pleading with him to be careful. They were already angry; he didn’t want the situation to get worse. Thomas stopped in front of Scott, hooked his hands beneath Scott’s armpits and hauled him to his feet.
“On a scale of one to ten, how high do you feel right now?”
Scott thought about it. “Do you remember when we were inside, and we ate those brownies Bull had hidden in the kitchen, but we didn’t know they were packed full of magic mushrooms, and we thought the cell was melting?”
Someone laughed behind Thomas. A hysterical, mocking laugh.
“I remember.”
“That was a good day.”
Thomas frowned. “No, it wasn’t, Scott. We were tripping for hours and licking the walls.” He glanced away. “And we swore we’d never talk about it again for fear others would find out and take the piss. We were supposed to take it to our graves.”
“Oh…”
Janice pointed at the wall. “This one to your taste?”
Thomas sighed. “Let’s get you some fresh air.” He wrapped his arm around Scott’s back and walked him to the door.
“But I’ve still got a hundred and one balloons to do.”
