Suddenly, everything started to spin, and I realized my limbs seemed to be stuck. My arms felt like there were hundred-pound weights hanging from them. I turned and pushed myself back through the crowd. I looked around for Megan as I felt my panic rising. It was then that I saw the black door to my right and the green neon lights that blinked the word “Bathroom.”
As quickly as I could manage with weighty feet and arms, I pushed my way over to the bathroom, hoping I’d find Megan inside and she could take me home. Once inside, the music was muffled. With the loss of the loudness, I could really tell something was wrong. I once got a buzz at my aunt’s wedding and it never felt like this. I felt sleepy and weighed down. I bent to look under the stalls to see if Megan’s shoes were under there, but when I did, the floor suddenly seem too close and I collapsed into a heap on the nasty bathroom floor.
“Megan!” I screamed out. My voice sounded slurred and altered.
No one responded.
Everything around me started to go blurry and a wall of nausea slammed into me. I fell over and crushed my body into the fetal position. I needed help. I wanted to scream for help, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore. The room started to blink in and out as I began to lose consciousness. My heartbeat felt too slow, even though I was in a full-blown panic. It was definitely too slow. I was afraid it would stop beating at any second.
I tried to call out, but I was so tired. Far away, the music got loud again as the bathroom door opened. It went away once the door closed. I popped my eyes open, praying Megan would be standing there, but all I saw was a pair of black boots and long legs in my vision.
He moved closer. I heard running water and then I saw him turn to leave. I needed whoever it was to stay. I needed help and he might be the last person to come in here before I died on the dirty bathroom floor.
I pushed words past my dry lips. “Please help me.”
The words slipped from my mouth like a soft prayer. I worried it wasn’t loud enough, but then I saw his legs stop. He turned and made his way over to me and I forced my head back to look up at him. It was the guitar god from the band. He stared down at me with angry brown eyes. He was blurry and every now and again he blinked in and out while I tried to keep my eyes focused. I was embarrassed and scared, but I knew I needed help and I would take that help from anyone at this point.
“Please.” I could only whisper. “Something’s wrong with me.”
With the last ounce of strength my legs had, I pressed my body against the wall and pushed myself up. I continued to use that wall to keep me up.
He took me in with an expressionless face, but then the anger in his eyes stabbed at me.
“Shit,” he growled. His voice echoed off of the bathroom walls around me.
Then he was coming closer and putting his hands out to touch me. I went into full alert. I wanted to scream for him not to touch me, but between whatever was happening to me and the absolute fear of his hands on me, I was at a loss for words. He used his fingers to open my eyes and I tried to keep them from bobbling around in my head.
“What did you take?” he asked rudely.
I wasn’t one of the slackers running around outside. I didn’t do drugs and I was offended that he thought I did, but how else would I feel this way? It had to be the alcohol because I don’t remember taking anything.
“I didn’t take anything, I swear,” I slurred.
“Did anybody give you anything, maybe a piece of candy or something powdery?”
He ran his finger down my face and touched my neck. It scared me at first, until I realized he was checking my pulse. I wasn’t freaking dead, but I felt like I was dying.
I could feel my panic increasing and I quickly ran the night’s events through my head, trying to remember if anyone gave me anything. No one did.
“No, no one gave me anything.” I was freaking out.
He rolled his eyes. “Then I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned away.
I couldn’t let him leave me. I didn’t want to die, and if I was dying, I didn’t want to die alone.
“Wait,” I said as I reached for his arm.
Realizing I’d touched a guy freaked me out even worse and I pulled my arm away like he was on fire.
It was obvious he was aggravated by me. He was shifting on his feet and rolling his eyes. To him, I was just another drugged-out chick at The Pit.
“What?” he asked.
Then suddenly I remembered the nice guy at the bar who’d given me the drinks. Had he put something in my drink like on one of those crazy cop shows?
“A guy at the bar gave me a drink,” I said in a rush. “I thought he just got it from the bartender. It was really sweet, but it tasted fine. I don’t think there was anything it in. I would have tasted it, right?”