There’s a surge of queasiness as my hypersensitive body recoils from the intense taste of the weed, then a lead sheet falls over me.
It brings clarity with it.
“Where is she?” I push away from the tree, growling when Kruger drags me back.
“Who, bro?”
“Haven! The girl my fucking cunt of a brother—” I cut off, because I want to puke even repeating what he did to her. My right hand squeezes open and shut as I flex my stinging knuckles. I wouldn’t be surprised if I fractured my hand.
iPhone’s on his phone, signaling something to Kruger as he turns away to make a call.
“More, bro.” Kruger urges my wrist up, and I hit the joint dangling from my limp left hand. “You ain’t chill enough yet.”
iPhone is back. “Nolan saw her leave with Melissa.”
“So wherethe fuckis she?” At least I’m not yelling, but from the way iPhone flinches, it doesn’t fucking matter.
There’s murder in my voice.
iPhone holds up a finger, turns, and makes another call.
“How you feeling, bro?” Kruger takes the joint out of my fingers, hits it, passes it back.
I should have waited for the first few drags to kick in before smoking more, but the rage is still there. Bubbling. Boiling. Seconds away from burning down the whole fucking house.
My lips curl in disgust as I realize I’m smoking filter. I crush out what’s left under my heel, wince when I remember I’m barefoot.
But I don’t feel a thing because it’s pouring with rain and I’m soaked. Cold.
Still pissed, but simmering now.
Then the weed hits.
And it hits fucking hard.
Kruger and iPhone both grab me as I tip forward, my eyes rolling back, but all they can do is slow my descent into a crouch with my back hard against the tree.
My head is in my hands.
“Dude. You chill?”
“Fuuuck,” is all I can get past my clenched jaw.
Kruger stands up. I hear him over my head, talking to iPhone, their disembodied voices the only thing I can focus on as I desperately try to hang on to reality.
“Shit. Looks like he’s rolling again,” Kruger says.
“You gave him too much,” iPhone says.
“Nah, man, this guy’s got mad tolerance. It’s just…it’s stress, right?”
“I’d fucking be stressed too. Ezra’s gonna need reconstructive fucking surgery to?—“
“Jesus, man, shut the fuck up.”
“Shit, sorry. It’s just…I’ve never seen someone flip out like that on molly.”
“There’s obviously some serious shit going on between them.”
