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That is my first thought as I wake up.
There is a dirty, sticky haziness in my mind that I can’t understand.
I shift my head, and the pain makes me moan.
“Easy, there,” I hear a familiar voice murmur to me, and my eyes open, blearily.
The room is dark. Thank God for that.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“Home,” the male voice affirms.
I can make out a long figure sitting on the armchair, which is next to my bed.
Why is this voice so familiar?
And why does thinking hurt my brain?
“How do you feel?”
I struggle to identify the owner of that thick-accented voice. I know him.
I know that I know him.
My head is so fuzzy, and I feel like someone has taken a jackhammer to it.
My gut churns.
“I want to throw up,” I say weakly, bile in my throat.
Immediately, the light is turned on, I am gently propelled into a sitting position, and a basket is shoved in front of me.
Fergus looks strained, lines etched into his forehead.
“What’s happening?” I try to shake out the cotton in my brain, which is stopping me from thinking straight. “Why are you here?”
My voice sounds strange to my ears, and suddenly the urge to hurl overcomes me, and I duck forward into the basket.
A firm hand runs circles on my back while the other holds my hair back.
My body trembles once I am done.
“Feel better?” Fergus asks, not sounding the least bit bothered that I just puked in front of him.
I nod, trying not to cry at how helpless I feel right now.
When he doesn’t move the basket, I push it away, my voice a little stronger. “I’m done.”
He puts the basket down beside the chair and studies me. “You look better.”
I rub my eyes, feeling the cobwebs clear a little bit. “What happened? Why are you in my house?”
And why aren’t I more terrified to have him here?
He must have read the conflict on my face because he sits back in the chair, his expression harsh with fury. “Your drink was spiked. My bet’s on Dominic, although I can’t prove anything.”
“I was drugged?” I reel from the news.
