I studied the tiny pill. “What does it do?”
“Relaxes you. All your muscles. And you forget, for a while, all the stuff that came before. All the stuff bothering you.”
“How long does it last?”
“Oh, an hour. Two hours. Three if you drink something with it and get lucky.”
“So you take it and just do what? Dance? That doesn’t sound fun.”
“We could just lay here, talk about stuff. Stuff that isn’t sad, for once.”
My brain was an echo chamber of two words; ‘dad dying’. Over and over, like a chorus of disembodied voices who refused to free me from my suffering. My nails bit my palm.
“Okay. But you have to promise to stay with me.”
Fitz smiled, so golden and charming I was nearly blinded. “I promise.”
I took the pill in shaking hands and quickly downed it with water before I could second guess myself. Fitz and I laid back on the bed, and my stomach danced.
“I’m going to jail for this, right?” I asked. Fitz laughed.
“Maybe. But I can probably bust you out. Their security systems are notoriously outdated. Burn could be the muscle. Wolf could just look at them and make them piss themselves.”
“He does have that effect,” I agreed. I felt like I was waiting for the axe to drop in a guillotine – when would the pill kick in? Would I feel it? Would I die the second it hit my bloodstream?
Time started to blur together. Fitz and I talked about the War of the Roses again and how dumb the outfits were back then, and all of sudden, mid-sentence about the Lancasters, I felt my whole body grow hot. It was like someone shifted bike gears for my brain, because the fear just left me all at once. All the voices in my head telling me Dad was dying and I was selfish and stupid for ignoring him right now just...evaporated. All my doubts drowned in little gentle rocking waves of peace. I looked over at Fitz and he smiled at me.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“It’s….nice,” I marveled. “My body feels heavy but nice.”
Let me super clear about this, pen-and-paper; drugs suck. I mean, I could understand Fitz and his marijuana thing; Dad did the old weed thing when he was younger, and even when I was a kid, but he stopped when it started affecting his depression more and more. I was fine with personal weed journeys. I knew better than to believe the media scare tactics of ‘weed can kill!’ or some other nonsense. But stuff like these pills? Popping medications meant for diseases recreationally? Nothing good comes out of that. That was the really bad stuff. And I learned that the hard way, that night.
“Let’s go,” Fitz sat up. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” I agreed, my stomach gurgling ravenously.
We sat up and walked upstairs together. It was strange; even moving my body felt good, like I was doing it in slow motion, underwater, like I was moving through a room chock full of the fluffiest, most cottony pillows ever. Fitz and I crammed our paper plates with turkey and fancy omelets and cheesecake before collapsing on the nearest available couch. Someone had turned on some music, and people were dancing in the living room. It looked fun. If just moving my body felt good, I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to dance like that. Fitz saw me staring, and once we finished eating he pulled me up.
“C’mon. Dance with me.”
“I can’t!” I laughed. The sound of my own voice startled me. How long had it been since I laughed like this – like I was excited and really having fun?
“You have no choice, madam. I put secret dancing juice into those pills,” He whispered, and I laughed again. He led me through the crowd to the center.
“I seriously can’t dance,” I insisted. Fitz smiled back at me over his shoulder.
“Just listen to the music. Don’t think about anything else – just listen to the drums.”
I might’ve been high, but I wasn’t totally unaware of how I looked. I swayed nervously. Suddenly, Fitz flailed his arms and legs in an enthusiastic dance. Nothing I’d do would look anywhere near as bad. I laughed so much my stomach felt sore, and when I came up for air all I could hear was my blood rushing in my ears and the drums pounding on them. This music was great. I raised my arms, the pillows pressing against my skin again, all over, so soft and comforting.
We danced until I felt like my face was on fire. Fitz pulled me by the hand out of the crowd.
“I’m so hot,” He gasped.
“And you know it!” I elbowed him. He chuckled and pointed at the glass doors leading out of the kitchen and to the pool outside.
“Let’s get some air.”
There were way less people outside than inside. When the cool autumn air kissed my sweaty skin, I almost gasped. It felt incredible – like suntanning for hours and then dipping into the cold ocean. I nursed my pleasant chicken skin as Fitz took off his shoes and put his feet in the pool. I did the same. For a while, we watched the stars, swirling our feet in the water. People outside started to filter inside when someone yelled ‘beer pong’. Soon it was only me and Fitz left. I briefly wondered where Wolf had gone – Burn said he was out here before.
Fitz’s eyes wandered up the legs of a girl playing beer pong inside. He nudged me.
“I’m going to go get a drink. You stay here, okay? Do you want anything?”
I shook my head. He moved to get up, but I clutched his arm.
“Thank you, Fitz. For this.”
He smiled, playfully. “Anything for my dowdy little scholarshipper.”
He disappeared inside the house, leaving me with the delightful emptiness in my head. In a way, it was sort of like how I felt skydiving, except without the adrenaline. In fact, I probably had negative adrenaline, with how slow I felt. Even my blinks felt like they took ages. The water was so cool on my feet, and my body was so comfortable. The world went dark.