My drink had arrived while I was in the bathroom. I sipped my water though, wanting to save my soda for my meal. “So, what’s been going on in your life since we graduated?”
He looked at my drink, ignoring my question. “Is there something wrong with it?”
I shook my head. “No, it looks fine. I just want to save it for the food. I always drink it too quickly.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ve been busy. Doing my thing, you know? Being responsible,” he added with another suggestive wink.
I changed my mind and took a huge gulp of my Diet Coke, needing a hit of caffeine. “So, how did you hear about this place?”
“It got some good reviews. I’ve had friends who always score here.”
“Score?” I made a face.
“Business deals, you know.”
I felt hands on my shoulders. “Drop the straw.”
I would recognize Shane’s voice anywhere. “Huh?” I turned around to see him standing over me, glaring at Logan.
“What did you do to her drink?” Shane spat.
“Where the fuck did you come from?!” Logan shouted.
“I know what you do to girls. Everyone does,” Shane accused.
He walked over to Logan and pushed him off his chair, which fell with a clatter, alarming the patrons in the restaurant. The waitress came over, her hands over her mouth. A clear plastic bag fell out of Logan’s khaki pants, a handful of pills clearly visible in the light.
“Yep. Just as I thought,” Shane growled. “Come on, Sasha, we’re taking you to the doc—and then we are going to the police.” He stared pointedly at Logan, who stared up at him, fear dawning in his eyes.
I couldn’t believe it. Immediately, I began to feel a bit fuzzy. I took his hand, and we walked to his motorcycle.
“You okay?”
“I need to sit down.” He helped me to a bench nearby. A small crowd of people were watching us. “My drink tasted weird, you know?”
SHANE
She slumped over into my arms, limp and helpless, nearly falling off the bench. I hated the motherfucker for doing this to her, and as he walked out the door, I yelled, “You’re lucky she’s with me, or you’d be fucked.” I picked her up, not caring about anything but getting her to safety.
One of the waitresses was already on the phone—with the police, it looked like. She was making faces and gesturing to Logan as if she was trying to describe him. I hailed a cab as Sasha’s breathing grew shallow and her face paled.
“Mercy Hospital, ASAP,” I said. The cab driver nodded urgently, and I dialed the cops as we waited. “Hello. I just picked up my… my girlfriend from a restaurant. A guy named Logan Burnham drugged her. I need you to send a cop to Mercy Hospital.”
“Okay. Your name, sir?”
“Shane Cassidy.”
Sasha was coming to, nodding in and out of consciousness. She was allergic to nearly everything under the sun.—I knew that from growing up with her. I hoped whatever drug Shane had used hadn’t sparked a serious reaction. We arrived at the hospital, and I threw the cab driver a twenty.
“Thanks,” I said. I carried her close in my arms, rushing into the hospital. “I need a gurney. Quickly.”
“What happened?” the nurse asked, hurrying to help me.
“Her date drugged her. I don’t know how much she drank or how much got into her system, but she passed out,” I said. I helped the nurse and attendant lay her gently in the chair, and her head slumped. Frantically, I said, “Help her!”
“Sir, we need you to step away while we examine her,” the nurse ordered. I nodded, trying to be logical. In this situation, it felt almost impossible.
“We don’t know what happened,” the attendant explained. “We only know your side, so please step aside.”
I had not moved and immediately did as I was told, though the implication rankled. “Okay. There is a cop on the way here.”
They took her from me. My head was spinning. Nothing could have prepared me for this feeling of panic, this overwhelming compulsion to run in there and hold her, to make everything okay. Logan was lucky I had to be here with her right now, or I would have found him and knocked him out. I sat in the waiting room, trying to remember as many details as I could. The policeman arrived, looking rushed and disgruntled. I stood up to greet him.
“Are you Shane Cassidy?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m with Sasha Meade.” I spoke to him for a few minutes until one of the attendants came out. I turned away from the policeman and asked, “What’s going on?”
“We cannot give you that kind of information, sir. Unless you’re family,” he informed me brusquely.
“I can get you in touch with her family,” I said. I dialed Eddy, who picked up, pissed off.
“Kinda busy over here. How’s it going?” he asked.
“I need you to come to Mercy Hospital now. Your sister is here. Logan drugged her,” I explained. Everyone knew Logan’s scuzzy history—except Sasha, apparently.
“Fuck… Is she okay?” he asked.
“She passed out. They won’t give me any details because I’m not her family. So get over here. Call your parents.”
“Got it. I’ll be there soon,” Eddy said. He hung up, leaving me with the cop.
“Would you mind answering a few questions until the family gets here?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” I said.
I followed him into the waiting room where he sat down in front of me with a pad and began rattling off standard questions off—such simple questions for such a complex situation. All I wanted to do was see Sasha and know that she was okay. That was all.
Part Two
SASHA
I opened my eyes only to close them again immediately, blinded by a bright light. Everything rushed back to me—sound, sight, smells. I nearly vomited and hastily swallowed the bile building up in my throat.
“You’re awake,” said a familiar voice. My mother sat next to me, a magazine open in her lap. The fact that I lay in a white hospital bed, adorned in a flimsy blue paper gown, registered in my befuddled brain. The blankets draped over me might as well have been made of paper, too. I was terribly cold. Foggy images from earlier pushed into my stream of consciousness, but nothing was clear. I inhaled sharply, unable to remember anything but Starbucks.
“W—what happened?” I asked, reaching out to her for support. She took my hand and squeezed it. Her hand was wonderfully warm, such a sharp contrast to my shaking, cold one.
“A lot could have happened if Shane hadn’t stepped in. How are you feeling?” she answered. Her voice was hoarse and tired.
Scenes from my lunch with Logan took shape in my mind. “I was with Logan… And then I remember Shane…” I began, trailing off.
“Logan drugged you. You had a severe allergic reaction to the drug. Shane got you here just in time,” she said.
“Just in time?”
“The drug had an ingredient in it that you can’t take. Your throat was closing up, and your heart was beating so fast they worried you might have a heart attack.” She stopped as her voice hitched. She blinked her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall, though I could tell she’d been crying. “Luckily, the waitress found the pills and gave them to the officer she had called. He immediately brought them here, or you might have died. Shane said your lips were turning blue.”