He scans my eyes, then my hands, then the general disaster zone around me, which, yeah, isn’t a great advertisement for “fine”.
He tilts his head. “What did you take?”
I think about that. I think about the timeline of tonight, but that’s not fully available to me. Dunno why.
There was the thing someone handed me that I assumed was just a normal brownie, but maybe I should’ve known better. And then the shots, and then—
“Weed.”
“Obviously. What else?”
“There were—” I gesture vaguely at the kitchen. “Someone had pills. Mystery flavor.”
Was that what made my dick rock-hard? I think about that for a second. I think about it very carefully.
Kit puts two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That’s all?”
I try to locate a specific memory. It’s not locating.
“I think I did a line of something. Around like one.” I chuckle. “Dude, that wasnotcoke.”
Kit stares at me.
“That was—I only did alittlebump of that. I’m pretty sure it was fine,” I add.
“You’re pretty sure, huh?” he says, looking at me like I’m weird for partying at a party.
“Eighty percent.”
“Eighty percent sure you didn’t snort bath salts at a rando’s house.”
“I know the guy,” I say. “We have a seminar together.”
“Okay,” he says, rubbing his face. “Okay. Let’s go.” He stands up and holds out a hand.
I look at his hand. Then at him. Then back at the very comfortable thermodynamics textbooks behind me. They’ve been there for me all night, physically and emotionally.
“Let’s go,” he repeats.
“Gimme a minute.”
“Dude— “
“The music is good right now.”
He looks at the ceiling and sighs, then back down at me. “The music is crap.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I know, right? It works though. Like, the contrast—”
“Bro.” He gets a grip under my arm. “Come on, man. Get up.”
I think about that. I think about what that means. What going home looks like right now: dodging the bodies on the floor, locating one of my Vans, then facing the freezing-ass wind outside, and the car and then—no. No, that sounds like a lot.
“Nah,” I say.
He makes a face, and crouches back down to my level, which I appreciate, really. Eye contact is easier when there’s not a height differential. Honestly, I don’t know how people deal with having to look up at someone all the time; it’s exhausting.
“If you don’t get your ass up, I’m calling Walker to fireman-carry you out of here.”
