Page 2 of Psyop Kings

The throbbing in my head intensifies, spotting my vision.

Turn on the light, Romy. You’ll see. Just another stupid nightmare.

I reach for my lamp and bump my hand hard on the nightstand. Except it isn’t a nightstand. It’s the wall. Did I fall asleep on Tara’s bed?

A shudder ripples through me.

My roommate hardly washes her sheets and, given how many men she has in her bed, it grosses me out on a daily basis. The thought of being in her bed has me jolting upright.

Thump!

A wave of dizzying pain floods through my head where I smacked my forehead.

What the hell?

As awareness finally clutches its piercing claws into me, clarity quickly surveys my situation.

Hot, stale air.

Not on a soft bed but something hard and unforgiving.

Walls all around me.

Am I dead? Did I just wake up inside my own coffin?

A surge of panic explodes through me. The urge to scream is overwhelming, but past experience has me smothering it with a pitiful whimper. Stinging tears burn my eyes and wet my lashes. I push against the wooden wall above me with all my strength, but it doesn’t budge a millimeter.

I’m trapped.

Somehow, someway, I’m trapped.

I don’t know how I got here or who put me here, but it’s a fact. Not a dream, not a mental side quest, not a hallucination. It’s real.

Think, Romy!

What is today? What time of day is it? What’s the last thing I remember?

I desperately try to calm my erratically beating heart to focus on anything I can recall. A hint of tobacco. My nostrils flare as I suck in the musty, thick air. The scent clings to my hoodie that’s over my now sweat-soaked shirt. Once I’m focused on the smell, it becomes all I can notice.

How did I get that smell on me?

The faint sound of glasses clinking together and an ancient Guns N’ Roses song thread through my consciousness.

A bar.

I’d gone to a bar.

I’m only eighteen, though. How did I—fake ID. I got in with a fake ID that my brother helped me get last summer.

Thoughts of Bastian have tendrils of calm cooling my burning skin.

Think about your brother, Romy. That’s it. Breathe, girl.

My brain skitters past Bastian, back to the memories swimming in my foggy head.

Why did I go to the bar alone?

Who was I meeting?

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