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She grabs my wrist before I can slip away. Another girl with bright green eyes takes my other hand and stares up at me. I don't even know who she is. Layla presses her body against mine.
"Just come sit with us for a few minutes."
I shrink away from her and grimace when she leans up to nip my earlobe. I spin away from them and almost fall over. How much have I had to drink?
"No, Layla, I'm serious."
"At least let me call you a cab. Let Brit help you over to the couch," Layla coos.
I collapse onto a soft surface and wince when my head hits the wall behind me. I wrench my eyes open and groan. Familiar faces stare down at me, and I can't make out a word they're saying.
"Where am I?" I blurt out.
"God, how much did you have to drink?"
"Where's Andre?" I ask.
"Let's not worry about him. I brought you the drink you asked for, handsome." Someone sits on my lap and puts a heavy, glass bottle in my hand.
I take a long swig from it and cough away the burn in my throat. "What is this?" A sharp ringtone rings in my ears—my ringtone.
"Oakley's phone," Layla says in a singsong tone. I murmur something and try to reach for it, but I'm ignored.
I lie back in defeat, too tired to put up a fight.
"No, no, Oakley! Wake up. Look who we found!"
I open my eyes and lean forward. I beg my eyes to focus on the guy standing across the room. I let out a low chuckle at the sight of my best friend. All of a sudden, my vision blurs. I can't make out the figure coming towards me before the world goes black.
???
It feels like a jackhammer is pounding my skull as soon as I wake up. I rub my temples in hopes of easing the pain, but it only worsens. I pass a hand over my eye and hiss in pain.
What the hell? I peel my eyes open and blink rapidly to clear my vision. Thankfully, I'm in my old bedroom—not a ditch. I pull myself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, open-mouthed. A large blue and purple bruise rings my left eye. I guess the pain makes sense now. I turn the tap on to see my bruised, cut knuckles.
Shit.
Andre. The fight last night flashes across my mind. Andre has said his fair share of shit things to me, but last night takes the cake. He knew what he was saying. And he knew how I would react.
The last thing I remember is Layla giving me her drink. It was most definitely laced with enough drugs to erase every memory of the night. Who even brought me home last night? How did I get into bed?
The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house. I hurry into my room to throw some sweatpants and a hoodie on. I toss my hood up to hide my eye and head downstairs. I open the door to a busted Andre. The purple shadows under his eyes stand out vividly against his sallow skin. I gesture for him to come upstairs, and he follows me into my room before standing awkwardly by the door.
"Hey," he breathes, eyes on the carpet.
I sit down on my bed and raise my eyebrows. "What happened last night? Why did you guys drug me?" I demand, not wanting to beat around the bush.
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "I didn't. I stopped it. I had no idea Layla was going to do something like that."
I laugh mirthlessly. Andre stares bemused.
"Maybe if you weren't such a prick, you would have been there to stop it before I was high out of my mind."
He frowns and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I know. I'm sorry."
I scoff at him and cross my arms. "Sorry isn't going to fix anything. You crossed a line, Andre. If you were anyone else, you wouldn't be able to walk right now. I thought we were best friends, but apparently, I was wrong."
