But the warmth spreads too fast. Too deep. It curls low in my belly, then rises, thick and dizzying.
My head floats, then sinks, like a balloon filled with lead. The room tilts, edges softening, voices coming and going.
I blink hard. “Jon… Da?—”
My tongue thickens like I’m trying to speak through cotton. The words come out slurred and shapeless.
Jon David is there, kneeling in front of me, smoothing my hair back with careful fingers. His smile is soft and coaxing. Too soft. “It’s okay, baby. Just lie down. You’re tired, that’s all.”
I try to shake my head. I think I do, but my body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore. My hands slide off my lap, the empty glass slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clink.
“I… don’t… I… can’t…”
“Shh.” His voice is a murmur at my ear. “Nothing has to happen tonight. Just rest.”
The room narrows, and my vision tunnels. I fold into the couch, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Fingers graze my cheek before a blanket settles over me.
And then?—
Nothing.
Consciousness returns in fragments,flickers of thought in the darkness. Nothing makes sense.
The room is too quiet.
My mouth is dry, each breath ragged. Pain pulses behind my eyes, brutal and pounding.
The blanket draped over me is too thin. I’m cold and shaking, my skin damp with sweat.
I try to move, but my limbs are heavy and uncooperative. Blinking hard, I push through the fog, but confusion cuts clean through it.
What happened?
I brace on shaky elbows, breath catching in my throat. The room tilts, a slow, sick spin that curls my stomach.
“Jon David?” My voice is hoarse, more air than sound.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I tug the blanket off and drag myself upright. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I stand, swaying, one hand braced against the couch. My head throbs. The living room stretches out dim and unfamiliar, moonlight slipping in thin ribbons through the blinds.
My shoes are gone. I don’t remember taking them off.
Where are they?
Each step is careful, heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears. The hallway stretches ahead, dark and silent. Closed doors line the walls. My palm glides along the wallpaper as I stagger forward.
“Jon David?”
My voice barely disturbs the air, swallowed by the hush.
At the end of the hall, one door glows around the edge—a sliver of light bleeding through the crack at the bottom, pale against the dark floor.
Something cold coils low in my stomach. My fingers twitch at my side. My feet continue to move, carrying me forward before my mind catches up.
Please.
