Drop them back to my sides.
I feel like I’ve been drugged.
Or what I assume it would feel like to be drugged.
I’ve been high before, but it just made me sleepy. This…
I run my tongue along my molars.
This isn’t that.
And, obviously, no one drugged me.
Other than waving to a few adults I assume are professors, I didn’t talk to anyone today besides Jenny.
Maybe Jenny drugged me.
Maybe that paper was laced with… PCP or… I don’t know. I’m not a chemist. But maybe the paper was saturated with some mind-altering drug, and when it sliced my finger, it infected me.
Maybe the footsteps never happened.
Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing.
Maybe I didn’t soak through my panties thinking about a vampire.
Maybe nothing is real.
Grimacing, I turn and move through my living room-dining room-kitchen combo and head down the short hallway to the other end of my apartment.
I pass the small closet and bathroom, then turn into my bedroom.
Kicking my jeans off, I toss them onto the foot of the bed. Then I peel off my underwear.
Earlier, when I couldn’t ignore the dampness anymore, I used one of the public restrooms to clean up.
No one else was in the restroom, but my cheeks still burned with embarrassment the whole time I was in there.
I hadn’t come. But my body was acting as though we were seconds away from getting railed for the first time.
I toss my underwear into the laundry basket.
I’ve been turned on before, touched myself before. But even then, even in my most aroused state, I’ve never been such a mess.
Drugged.
It has to be drugs.
I press two fingers to the pulse point on my throat.
Then I drop my hand because I’m not a freaking nurse, and I don’t know how to count my pulse.
I toss the rest of my clothes onto the bed with my jeans, then turn to my dresser.
With no plans to leave the apartment until tomorrow, I grab clean undies, sweatpants, and an old, incredibly comfortable T-shirt, and bring them into the bathroom.
Avoiding my own reflection, I clean up. Again.
I’ve wanted to have sex.