Page 81 of Until Landon
A hand rocks my shoulder, as I try to open my eyes. They are so heavy and seem to be glued together. The corner of my mouth has caked up drool. What the fuck? My neck. Shit. It feels like it has been in this kinked position forever.
“Wake up!” Bing’s graveled voice lands like a shock to my system.
“What…wait…what’s happening…”
“We’ve been roofied! Fucking cunts! Here, drink this.”
My brain is in a fog, and my mouth is so dry. Someone lifts my head and a water bottle touches my lips.
Water trickles down my throat and my neck.
“Stop, dude!”
My lids open and I see Bing’s concerned face relax. He looks like shit on a stick.
“There you are. Fuck, man, you worried me. We got rolled.”
“What does that mean? Give me that,” I say, taking the bottle and chugging a drink.
“Those fucking bitches robbed us!”
The pain in my head grows to a pounding beat, as the realization of the situation becomes clearer in my mind. My heart starts beating like a jackhammer.
“Are you fucking kidding?”
Now I begin to focus. It isn’t a pretty sight. We are on the couch, looking like two beached whales who landed on shore after a bender. My legs are spread and my head is cocked to the side. I try to straighten.
“Shit!” I grab the back of my neck.
“I know. I’m fucked up too! Look at this place, Hunter!”
“I don’t want to,” I say, scanning the room.
“We are so fucked,” Bing’s sad whine states the obvious.
No words come, as I take in the scope of things. Boxes are cut open, unwanted contents thrown to the side. And it doesn’t stop in this room. I see the tops of boxes on the kitchen counter, opened and looked through in the same way.
“Oh shit!”
Bing has made his way to the upright position. It takes me a minute to follow his lead.
“Where’s my iPad?” There’s panic in his voice. “I always leave it here! My phone was in my pocket. Oh shit!”
I pat my pocket, and it is flat as a pancake. “Mine’s gone too!”
“What are we going to do?”
My friend looks helpless and I have nothing to offer.
“I don’t know! Join witness protection? Crap!”
“Shit! I don’t know how we will get out of this one,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Are you okay? Do we need to see someone? Like a doctor?”
The other member of the clueless club answers my valid question.
“Are you fucking crazy? We’re okay. I’ll Google what to do. Wait. I’m not thinking straight. We have no phone or iPad. I don’t know how to get out of this one, dude.”
