“How much did you drink last night?”
The question was simple and innocuous, but the word drink nearly made me wretch. I could still taste it in my mouth, that drink I’d had, the last one. But I couldn’t picture it.
I didn’t know if I fell asleep again, if Ash left and came back, but the next thing I knew he was sitting beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Here, take these. Some Advil.”
I managed to open up my eyes a sliver and make out three pills in his palm. Gently, he helped me sit up, handing me the pills and then water to chase them down.
“Wathefuck?” I slurred, wishing I could sleep again.
“Baby, are you OK? I know you’re a lightweight, but this seems—”
I groaned again, digging the base of my palms into my eye sockets.
“I’ll let you sleep again, it’s just that it’s almost three o’clock so I was starting to get worried that you’d barely moved.”
“Three clock?” I squinted at him. How was that possible? The last thing I remembered I was at a party. A big party for New Year’s Eve.
“You’ve been asleep for about fourteen hours.”
That wasn’t right. Listing to the left, happily I found Ash and leaned against him. He wrapped an arm around me. That felt better.
“Did you take anything last night? Any pills or—?”
“No.” I shook my head, then I wished I hadn’t. Movement was a bad thing. But I felt certain I hadn’t done any drugs. But why couldn’t I remember a goddamned thing?
“Somebody might have slipped something into your drink. Motherfuckers.”
Bits and pieces came back to me from last night. A girl dancing all up on me. Ash up on a bar doing shots. Standing and talking with Johnny. And Connor.
“Connor,” I mumbled, even my mouth feeling heavy and sleepy.
“Yeah, he said he saw you drink something before you passed out. Have some water.” Ash handed me a large bottle and sat with me, coaxing me to finish nearly the whole thing.
I needed to sleep some more. I tried to fight it. He said I’d already slept for 14 hours, but I couldn’t stay awake any more than I could fly.
“Where are we?” I managed, my eyelids stubbornly refusing to open, my head sinking deeper onto Ash’s shoulder.
“My cabin in Mammoth.”
“What?” That breathed a bit of life into me. My eyes not exactly wide but at least partially open, I looked around me. A rustic antler chandelier overhead, wide-beamed wooden planks underfoot, we nestled on an oversized leather couch in front of a gigantic stone fireplace. Had he said Mammoth? Like the prehistoric wooly mammoth creature?
I must have said that last bit out loud because Ash chuckled and pulled me closer, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you rest some more?”
“Was going to New York,” I whispered, trying to make sense of this, my body sinking into him with complete trust but my mind reeling about, foggy and confused and upset.
“I’ll keep you safe.” He kissed me on my head. And with that I was out again like a light.
§
I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up again, but I could see it was dark outside the windows. Lights were on inside, though, and the fire still burned.
From somewhere I could hear a piano, the notes lilting and flowing out. It was Ash playing, I knew instantly. He had a way of expressing himself, showing how he felt through the keys. He was playing that song, the tune he’d first played for me at the arena in Santa Clara. So haunting, aching. The melody had grown from that first time, developed through us playing it again, together, expanding and deepening. It pulled at me.
But even more than that, I really needed to pee. Slowly, I brought myself up to sitting. Then slowly, oh so slowly, up to standing. I realized I was wearing a too-big sweatshirt and sweatpants. They must belong to Ash.
Ash was at my side in a second. “Are you OK?”
“Bathroom,” I managed. He helped me over to it. I wondered if that’s what it felt lik
e to get old, when meeting bodily needs seemed to pose a nearly insurmountable challenge. Ash would take good care of me if we grew old together.
Where had that thought come from? Clearly I was still under the influence of some kind of drug much more powerful than mere alcohol.
Door closed, I took my time, as if I could have done anything else. Cold water felt good splashed on my face, and I found a washcloth to remove some of the more ridiculous clown-like smudges of makeup. Nothing could be done about my hair, though. It had a life all its own, standing up proud and tall like a 1960s beehive. So be it. Nothing but a long, hot shower could tame that mane.
When I finally emerged, Ash met me and walked me again over to the couch. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a truck. Did I?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Because I can’t remember a damn thing about last night.”
“I guess you did some shots. And had something else to drink which I have to guess was laced with something. Could have been rohypnol, or GHB, or zolpidem. Or even a benzodiazepine, like temazepam or midazolam.”
I looked at him. “Did you just start speaking another language?”
He dropped his head, looking slightly bashful. “I know a lot about drugs.”
“Are you a pharmacist on the side?”
He looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders. “Ana, I’m not a perfect man. Far from it. But give me a shot.”
“Ash, I literally don’t even know where I am right now.” Was he trying to have a relationship conversation?
“Sorry, right.” He hustled away, then returned with a fresh water bottle and a mug of what looked like tea. “Here, keep hydrated.”
I drank. “So you think I got drugged?”
He nodded. I wished I could remember more about last night, but it was like trying to recollect a strange dream, the fragments appearing then twisting away before I could collect them and make sense of it all.