“Everything all right?” Saylor asks as he turns to me.
“Yeah, but Adam probably thinks I have stomach issues at this point.” I scrunch up my nose.
Saylor laughs. “He can fuck off anyway.”
We make it to the bar, and I sit back down under Adam’s curious gaze. “You all right?”
“Sure, I’m sorry.” I give him a small smile, taking a sip of my water. “How was your day?”
I’m trying to make him talk so I don’t have to, and it works.
Looks like Adam likes to talk about himself.
But I can’t focus on him, my gaze fixed on the clock on the wall over his head, counting the minutes until enough timehas passed to be considered polite to excuse myself. The more he talks, the closer he leans, his voice low and smooth, but he doesn’t touch me anymore, so that’s a win.
Saylor is just standing next to me, arms crossed, radiating frustration.
“… I can take you on the boat and out there sometime soon if you like,” Adam offers, but I’ve no idea what he was just talking about.
My thoughts grow fuzzy, and I struggle to focus on his words. My head starts to spin, and a heavy lethargy creeps over me at a fast pace.
Fuck, what is happening?
“Slo, you all right?” Saylor asks, seemingly noticing that I’m not feeling well.
“I should get going,” I mumble, my words slurred. My limbs feel like lead, and my eyelids droop despite my best efforts to keep them open.
Adam smiles, his eyes narrowing with a sinister glint. “Already? But we’re having such a good time.”
“You fucking dick, what did you do?” Saylor gets beside Adam, yelling at him, but of course, he can’t see or hear anything.
My heart races, and I push myself to speak, though my voice betrays my panic. “I-I just remembered something… need to do early tom… ow.”
I try to move, but I almost slip off the barstool, and Adam reaches out to grab my upper arm to steady me. A concerned voice breaks through my haze. Another patron nearby asks, “She okay, Adam?”
Panic surges within me, but my tongue feels too heavy to respond now.
“She’s had a little too much,” he reassures him with false concern, his voice dripping with deceit. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely and sleeps it off.”
“You fucking liar! She only had water, goddammit. You all saw it!” Saylor accuses the patron and the bartender.
The concerned patron hesitates but finally nods, returning to his beer. I feel a sinking sensation in my chest as I realizeI’m on my own here.
My muscles refuse to obey, and my body feels like it’s sinking into the barstool. Panic spikes within me as I realize he must have drugged my water, but I’m powerless to do anything about it. My mind screams for me to get up, to fight, to scream for help, but my body remains unresponsive.
“Sloan,” Saylor exclaims, panic written all over his face when he tries to reach for my arm, but I’m so numb I can’t even feel the tingling.
Adam pulls me off the barstool. My legs wobble beneath me, and I stumble, almost falling to the floor. He grips me so tightly that it will leave a bruise for sure and drags me toward the exit.
“Say something, Slo.Anything.Scream!” Saylor urges me, but the more I try, the fuzzier I feel.
Each step feels like a monumental effort, and my vision blurs as fear and panic consume my thoughts.
Iwantto scream, to escape, to break free, but my body betrays me, leaving me helpless in Adam’s grasp while he opens the door to the bar and gets us both outside into the dark night, only illuminated by the street lamps.
If he gets me to another place, I’m done.
“If you can’t scream, let yourself fall to the ground,” Saylor commands, and I go limp.
