Follow me to my new account !

Red, she/they [27] I've moved over to @somethin-sparklyy ! Follow me there :)

[somethin-sparklyy]

Salt in the Wound

(You Call, I Answer, Part 3)

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Summary: reader breaks up with Jeremiah (not explicitly scripted), and takes some time for herself. Conrad reaches out, but she can’t handle the whiplash right now.

WARNINGS: discussion of being drugged at a party, arguing, Jeremiah hate continued, ANGST, very sad Connie baby

A/N: I had to vaguepost the Jeremiah scene because I could NOT take him seriously, sorry! Also I’m sorry, this one is going to hurt! I’ve been cleaning up the next part though so you will be ok soon :)

~2k words

It went about how you expected. Jeremiah had answered the door with an expression you thought he may have practiced in the mirror. The perfect picture of concern, soft and caring. Waiting to reflect back whatever it is that you’re looking for in him. 

He almost cracked, when he saw you in Conrad's clothes - you saw the flicker of jealousy - but he managed to keep it together.

You don’t remember exactly what he said, but it doesn’t matter. An apology, long and wordy but insubstantial. Really, a cross between an apology and a lecture. It included the words “if I’d known”, and “big miscommunication”, and “next time”. You’d already checked out before getting there, but you respected him too much to do this over the phone, so there you were, nodding while he went on. 

When the words “take a break” left your mouth, the tone changed, as you’d expected. The Jeremiah you’d come to know was back then. The stone mask back on, angry, feigned hurt, dismissive. He’d said it was “unfair”, and you thought back to what Conrad had said. No, it wasn’t fair. 

You said some things that made you wonder whether this break could actually be temporary after all.

You hadn’t even gone into his apartment. Just argued right there on the front step. Then you’d walked down the street in a fugue state, ears ringing, and ended up slumped in a seat at the bus station for half an hour before even checking the routes on your phone. 

You’re jolted back into the present by the notification waiting for you. An email from the clinic - how modern. 

The results don’t make any sense to you at all, but you see the words “positive” and the sender encourages you to book a follow-up appointment to discuss. Great. 

You think it over for a moment, and decide to rip off the bandaid. You take a deep breath before dialing the familiar number. 

Taylor answers, and you can almost hear her smile through the phone.

“Heyyy, party girl. Just waking up now? I thought you were dead.” 

“Hey, Taylor, can I come over?” 

Several hours later, you and Taylor are lying on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. She’d listened to everything, letting you ramble and cry, and she shared your indignation at all the right moments. Then you’d watched a bunch of videos about celebrity gossip, and eaten a pint of ice cream each. 

Now you’re both on your phones, pop music playing quietly from her Bluetooth speaker. 

“Taylor?” you ask. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think I made a mistake?” you’re embarrassed by the question the second it leaves your mouth. 

She puts down her phone and sits up, looking at you. 

“Do I think you made a mistake breaking up with the guy you cried about for almost 45 minutes? Like actually sobbing right here, in this spot, only an hour ago? Or do I think you made a mistake spending the day with Conrad and looking into his puppy-dog eyes?” 

“Both, I guess.” 

“You’re too funny. You know, you haven’t even made a decision yet. You’ve got both brothers waiting for a call from you right now.” 

“That is not true.” 

Then, like he has a sixth sense, your phone vibrates with a text from Conrad. 

Just a simple: How did it go? 

“UGH” 

“Aaaaand, which brother is it?” 

You throw your phone down into the pile of pillows, and roll over, groaning into the one under you. 

The next week passes quickly. You have your appointment at the clinic, where they try to convince you to file a police report. You politely decline, resolved to grill Redbird relentlessly, whenever you can muster up the courage to call him. 

You try to stay off your phone, but it’s a challenge. Several ignored texts from Conrad, and not one text at all from Jeremiah. 

You’ve changed your mind a thousand times. Of course, you’re probably making the right decision to end things with Jere. It hasn’t felt right in a while, and that isn’t going to change now. But what about Conrad? You try not to let yourself think about it too much. It’s too early, you tell yourself. It needs to wait. 

Wait for what? You aren’t sure.

Friday night, you have a sleepover with Taylor. Face masks, home manicures, and every Twilight movie, back to back to back. You’re watching Bella fumble over her words, trying to get vampires and werewolves to get along, when you hear Taylor’s dramatic gasp. You look over, and see her looking at her phone, like she’s seen a ghost. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Okay, I know it’s not nothing. Show me.” 

“It’s bad.” she looks concerned. 

You reach for her phone, “Ok now you have to show me.” 

She slowly turns her phone to show you Lacie Barone’s Instagram story. A selfie of her and Jere at some party tonight. A big lipstick print on his cheek matching her wine-coloured lips. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty bad.” you agree, after a beat. 

“How are we feeling, 1 to 10?” Taylor asks cautiously. 

You’re already typing a text to him. 

Have fun with Lacie. Don’t fucking contact me again, asshole. 

Send. 

Was that too much? Maybe. Probably. You don’t even know if anything happened with Lacie. Are you just looking for a reason? 

Before you can stop the thought from occurring, you realize that you’re thinking about how much you want to tell Conrad. 

Oh my god, you tell yourself, get a grip. 

Late in the morning, Steven comes by with coffee and muffins. When he walks in the door, he gives you a knowing look. You glare at Taylor.

“You told him??”

“He's your brother.”

“Don't worry, I'm gonna kill him.” Steven says plainly, mid-bite into a muffin. 

You chuckle before you can pretend to be unamused, “Ok, you can stay.” 

You spend the afternoon with them, quiet and contemplative while they fill the air with conversation. For the first time in days, you start to feel like you might be where you should be, or close to it. 

You decide you want to catch golden hour at the beach. You thank Taylor for everything, elbow Steven in the ribs, and make your way. It's not far of a walk from Taylor's place, and you arrive right as the sun glows orange, leaving everything on the beach basking in golden light. You snap a quick selfie, and post it on Instagram, and caption it: 

glowing without you! #GoldenHour #BestSummerEver #StrongWomen 

Let Jeremiah see that. 

You settle in on the sand, and watch the sun disappear into the ocean. Oranges, red, and pinks light up the night, and then, nothing. Something about it feels so poetic to you. Such beauty, lasting only a few minutes. 

Now the sky is dark, and the cool, salty air feels sharp against your skin. 

You hear him before you see him. His breathing, maybe. Or you just sensed him, who knows. But before you whip around, you already know what you'll see. 

Big, green eyes stare at you, taking you in, swallowing you whole. 

You stand quickly, trying not to let him see the electricity coursing through you. 

“What are you doing here? Did you see my story and come here? What the fuck?”

“What? Your story?” He looks genuinely puzzled. “No, I saw you from down the beach. Listen - ”

“No!” it rips out of your throat before you can stop it. “I am so tired of being told what to do. I can't do this right now, Conrad”

“You've been ignoring me for days.” It's not an accusation, just a statement. Nothing but hurt in his eyes. He swallows slowly, like he’s forcing down something sharp. 

“I'm scared!” you blurt out, regretting it instantly.

“Scared of what?” His voice is soft. Too soft. You’ve ignored him for days and he’s still thinking of how you feel. He should be angry. He should bite back. 

“What did you think was going to happen? That I was just going to leave my boyfriend of FOUR YEARS, Conrad, and hop into your bed?”

“I never said anything about my bed.” There it is, the flash of defensiveness.

“You didn't have to! I know that’s what you want. That’s always what they want.” 

“Seriously? Since when have I ever given you that impression? And since when have I been part of they?” 

“Since you fucking abandoned me, Conrad. I never see you anymore, and when I do, you keep me at arm’s length. You barely even looked at me the other night while at Taylor’s. And now you want to text me every goddamn day?” 

“Things have changed, and you know it.” There’s fire in his eyes now, and it makes your veins feel icy. 

You cross your arms over your chest, like you’re trying to contain something too big to hold.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper.

“Then why are you here?” he asks. Still no anger, but maybe something close to desperation now. “Why are you here, if not to talk to me?”

You want to snap at him, to push him away, but you can’t seem to reach your anger anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice cracking. “I don’t know what I want.” 

“Yes, you do,” he urges, taking a step forward. “You always know. You’re just scared to say it.”

You can’t believe how much you let this go off the rails. You shake your head. You want to argue, but he’s right, and that’s worse than anything.

“I was with him for four years, Conrad. Four years.”

“And still, the second you needed someone - really needed someone - you called me.”

You’re frozen in place. His eyes are soft, pleading.

He takes the opportunity to continue, “You keep trying to act like this thing between us doesn’t matter,” he says. “But you know it does.”

“I don’t know how else to protect myself,” you say, your voice so quiet it nearly disappears under the waves. 

You remember that you’re supposed to be angry right now, and try to find it again.

“From me?” he asks. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did, Conrad. You pulled away. You disappeared, and I didn’t know why. And now you want to act like … like I’m the one who's broken this?”

He looks away, jaw tightening. You wonder if you’ve finally pushed him too far.

“I was scared too,” he says finally. “Scared to let myself feel it.”

The wind picks up, the silence growing heavy.

“You think I’m asking you to forget about him,” he continues, “but I’m not. I’m just asking you to see me. Right now. Standing in front of you.”

You feel something fracture in your chest. The walls you’ve kept up are coming down, fast. 

“What if I can’t?” you ask.

His voice drops to a whisper. “Then tell me to walk away.”

You don’t. You won’t. You could never tell him that. But you have to say something to stop this.

“You don’t just get to love me when it’s convenient.”

He flinches, not from anger, but like you just cracked something open inside him.

“It’s never been convenient,” he says, searching your eyes, “but it’s been real”

He pauses.

“...for me.” 

You don’t want to cry. You want to run. But your voice comes out anyway, trembling.

“If I love you, I’ll lose everything.

The moment stretches - sharp and silent. Something hangs in the air between you.

“You already have.”

It hits like a wave to the chest.

You can’t look at him. You turn, and walk away - your footsteps loud on the sand, his silence louder.

You don’t look back, but you know he’s still standing there, watching you disappear.

Dividers by @enchanthings-a

[something-sparklyy]

Part 3 posted on my new account! Sorry for the confusion if you follow me here! I'm using @somethin-sparklyy now.

[something-sparklyy]

You Weren't Supposed to Know is soooo good, can’t wait for part 2!! Thank you!

Thanks friend! I've switched over to @somethin-sparklyy and I'll be posting there :)

There are two more parts in this angsty little story, and I'm excited to share them!

[something-sparklyy]

Having funky issues with my acct so I've switched over to @somethin-sparklyy I'll be posting there from now on :)

[something-sparklyy]

You Weren't Supposed to Know

(You Call, I Answer Part 2)

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader, Jeremiah Fisher x fem!reader

Summary: Conrad takes care of reader as she recovers from being drugged at a party. She finally opens up to him about how her relationship with Jeremiah has been, and he is angryyy (at Jeremiah, not her). Reader tries to decide what to do next.

WARNINGS: discussion of being drugged at a party, memory loss, arguing, bad relationship (Jeremiah), Jeremiah hate 4ever, love triangle if you squint?

A/N: what can I say, I love high stakes

You wake up on a couch - Conrad’s couch - and try to remember how you got there. You remember the fight with Jeremiah, getting to the party, and playing flip cup, but then … nothing. Your chest feels tight, and your head heavy with pressure. Did you black out? It’s been a while since you and Jere have been to a frat party. But why are you on Conrad’s couch? 

On the coffee table, you find a glass of water and a single Ibuprofen. You sit up, head pounding, and see a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants folded neatly on the arm of the couch. His. He really does think of everything. You take the Ibuprofen and drink the entire glass of water. You peek through the opening into the kitchen and see Conrad moving quietly about, preparing something. You shift in your spot and his attention snaps to you when the couch squeaks. 

“Good morning.” he says quietly, cautiously. 

“Uh, hey.” you reply, unsure what to say to him. You didn't even know he was at the party. He was at Taylor’s getting ready, but you never saw any of them at the party. It doesn’t make sense. You close your eyes and take a breath. You remember seeing his face last night, looking concerned. 

He walks in with a plate holding a single piece of toast and a yogurt. He smiles sheepishly as he places it on the coffee table before you. 

“They said you may have trouble eating today. How are you feeling? Coffee, or are we too anxious for that?” 

You pause. Who’s “they”? 

A memory flashes, fluorescent lights and that hospital smell. 

“You took me to urgent care last night.” - it feels like a good guess. 

“Yeah. I was going to wait until the morning but I tried to talk to you last night and you were having trouble speaking. It scared me a little. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” 

“And?” 

“You’ll get a call with blood test results today or tomorrow. They’re pretty sure you were drugged. Do you know how many drinks you had?”

“No.” 

“Do you know who you were with?” 

You think hard, but there’s nothing there. 

“No.” 

“Okay, well -” 

“I think I’m going to get changed” you cut him off, picking up the clothes from the end of the couch, “I want to get out of this dress.”

His expression is unreadable. Guilt? Concern? 

“Of course.” 

You stand and walk down the hallway towards the bathroom, trying with everything to push down the question that is bubbling up. You almost get there, before turning back. 

“Conrad?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Where was Jeremiah?” 

His face turns into something you’ve seen in him before, many times, but haven’t put a name to. It hurts to look at. 

“I … I don’t know. I was hoping you would tell me.” 

Your heart twists. 

–

When you enter the bathroom, your reflection in the mirror startles you. Your eyeliner and mascara smudged all around your eyes making you look like a raccoon. Your eyes look puffy, but you don’t remember crying. 

On the counter, there is a package of face wipes, and a small container of face moisturizer. You wonder if they’re his, or if he bought them for you. Or maybe he bought them for someone else, and they’ve been tucked away in a drawer for the women lucky enough to wake up here. You doubt it. 

You peel off your dress, replaying every moment since waking up, over and over. Conrad’s face, giving away everything and nothing. His clothes, placed on the couch arm with such care. Why is your heart fluttering thinking about a cup of water and an Ibuprofen? 

You think about the time you blacked out at a frat party in the fall, and Jeremiah wouldn't talk to you all morning, because you'd “embarrassed him”. 

Conrad's t-shirt is soft against your skin, and you notice the cedar smell. For a moment, you’re on the beach, pulling him in for a kiss. Years ago, and yet it could be yesterday. You shake your head. 

Ugh.

Frustratingly, the information about last night doesn’t help you uncover any memories. You flip down the toilet lid and sit down before unlocking your phone. 

A text from Taylor at 10pm says “sorry we aren't going to make it tonite! Steven wants to chill. Have fun xo” 

A text from Jere at 2am says “where r u??” 

2:15am: not funny, babe. where r u?

2:17am: im going home

That's all. You scroll up and see your text to him saying you weren't feeling well.

You open your call log and see three missed calls to Jere between 10pm and 11pm, but you barely process them, because you see the call at the top of the list and your stomach lurches. 

Conrad. 11:07pm. Not only did the phone call connect, but it's 18 minutes long.

What. The. Fuck. 

–

You hurry out of the bathroom and find Conrad sitting at the small kitchen table, your untouched breakfast sitting across from him, moved from the coffee table. Beside it, a cup of tea. A small dish of sugar with a spoon placed beside it. The glass of water, refilled. He looks up at you from his crossword puzzle, clearly startled by the urgency in your body language. 

“You weren’t at the party.” 

“What?” 

“You weren’t at the party. I looked at my phone log, and I called you. I called you and you came to pick me up, didn’t you? I said I wasn’t going to call you anymore and I did and you came to pick me up and you stayed on the line the whole time! The call is 18 minutes long, Conrad. You stayed on the phone and you came ALL the way over -”

“Hey, why don’t you take a seat?” he interjects softly. 

You feel like you haven’t taken a breath since you left the bathroom. You sit across from him and look at him expectantly. 

“You called.” he says plainly, like it explains everything. 

“I called Jeremiah three times and he didn’t come.” 

His face changes instantly, softness gone. His brows furrow, “What?” 

“I called him three times, Conrad.” You pick up the cold toast and take a bite. You try to wrap your head around it. Jeremiah has never been one to dote on you at a party, but this feels like a new low. Doesn’t it? 

“He told me he hadn’t heard from you all night.” 

“Yeah, because he didn’t pick up his phone.” 

Conrad stands up quickly, like he’s been set on fire, crossing the length of the kitchen in a moment. He steps around in a wide circle, looking like he doesn’t know where to put the energy. He pauses, facing away from you, and you hear him take a deep breath, his whole body moving with it. 

He turns to look back at you and this time, it feels like his eyes are boring into your soul. You’re not sure what he sees there, but you weren’t expecting it, and you aren’t able to school your expression. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to hide right now. 

He sits back down across from you, looking intense. 

“What has been going on?”

Your breath catches. You didn’t expect him to just … ask. It hasn’t been like this between you two, not in a long time. He’s been distant, even though he lives close by. You haven’t seen his apartment since he hosted Christmas dinner. He smiled politely at you when you arrived, Jere’s arm around your shoulder, holding a pecan pie. He didn’t really speak directly to you all night, except to ask how your work term had been. 

Last night, getting ready for the party at Taylor’s place, he’d mostly hung out with Steven. You’d thought he must have been ignoring you. 

You don’t know what to make of his concern now. You sigh, wondering if you’ll regret answering. 

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just … weird, lately. He’s busy. He’s working hard, with your dad, you know. He misses school. He was really excited to see the guys last night. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You didn’t want to ruin it by getting drugged?” 

“Conrad, that’s not fair.” 

“No, it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that you were alone last night at a party you didn’t even want to go to, and … you who knows what could have happened? You don’t remember any of it, do you?” 

“No, but I -” 

“It was insane when I got there. I couldn’t figure out who lived there, and then I couldn’t open the door. I couldn’t even hear you on the phone anymore, not even your breathing, and I had to pick the lock. I had to ask Anika for a hair pin so I could pick the lock, I -” his voice breaks. 

You place your hand on his, warm and tense. 

“I’m sorry” you choke out. 

“Don’t say that” he says, chest heaving with his ragged breathing. 

“I shouldn’t have called, I know that.” 

“No, I’m so glad you called. I just didn’t know … that he was like this.” 

“You weren’t supposed to know.” you say quietly. 

–

The morning crawls by, and neither of you brings up Jeremiah for a bit. Conrad convinces you to drink some kind of electrolyte drink, and puts a rom-com on the TV. Neither of you are really watching, lost in thought. 

When Conrad gently places a throw blanket on your lap, his hand brushes against your arm, just for a moment longer than it should. Your heart does a little flip, and you wonder what that means. You haven’t felt cared for in this way in a long time. It’s hard to imagine Jeremiah, gently placing a throw blanket in your lap. 

You’re scared to be the first to break the silence. You don’t even know what you’d say, at this point. What happens now? When Jeremiah inevitably shows up with an apology and some flowers, does it all just go back to normal? Can it? 

You spent so long terrified that Conrad would find out, you hadn’t really considered what would happen when he did. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence first. 

“I just thought,” he says quietly, “that he’d be better for you. I thought you’d be happier.” 

“I was happy.” 

He exhales deeply. “Was. Past tense?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What happens now?” 

“I don’t know, but I can’t keep pretending this is working. I need time… and I think he does too.”

You sit with it for a minute, the weight of it. The exhaustion. The clarity.

Then you stand, slowly, letting the blanket fall.

“I think… I should see him.” you say.

Conrad nods slowly. “Do you want me to take you?”

You hesitate, then whisper, “Yeah.”

The drive is quiet. Your hands twist and turn in your lap. You don’t know what you’ll say, only that you have to say something.

When he pulls up outside Jeremiah’s apartment, you don’t move right away.

“You want me to wait?” Conrad asks.

You shake your head. “No. But… thank you. For everything, Conrad.”

“Always.”

You open the door and step out.

[something-sparklyy]

You Call, I Answer

Conrad Fisher x reader, Jeremiah Fisher x reader

Summary: After another argument with bf Jeremiah, reader is left alone at a house party where someone puts something in her drink. After Jeremiah doesn't pick up his phone, reader calls Conrad for help

WARNINGS: whump, college party, reader has something put in her drink, realistic description of being roofied, no romance (yet)

A/N: it's my first time posting so be nice! Formatting is a little whack so I apologize. I started typing and this came out idk, I think I needed it.

The silence in the back of the Uber was thick with tension. You could hear the quiet music coming from the front, with the driver tapping on his steering wheel along with the drums, but Jeremiah didn’t make a sound. It felt like he didn’t even move a muscle, sitting beside you like a statue, frozen at the end of the argument you’d had on the way out of Taylor’s apartment. Everyone else was still getting ready, but Jeremiah didn’t want to wait for them. You’d raised your voices at eachother, something you’ve started to do more often it seems, and there’s a small voice in the back of your head wondering if Conrad had heard. 

The idea used to terrify you - it still does a little - what would he think, if he knew you treated eachother this way? If he knew about the stony silences, stretched out for hours sometimes? It doesn’t feel as terrifying anymore; it feels more like an inevitability. 

The car stops, and you quietly thank the driver as you get out. The silence is cut short by the bouncing music and laughter coming from inside the party, but it’s hard to imagine going in there right now. You take a deep breath and set your face before turning to Jeremiah, trying to get your eyes to say let’s not fight anymore, please? 

“Listen”, he says, and you wonder if it worked. 

“Let’s just do our own things tonight, yeah? I never see the guys anymore and I just wanna have fun tonight.” 

Fine, be like that. 

“Ok. Uber home together later?”, you try not to sound too annoyed.  

He hesitates before saying “uh, yeah. Text me when you want to go. I don’t wanna go home early though.” 

You roll your eyes and head towards the front door, while he heads around back to where the guys are surely smoking. 

--

The next few hours fly by, catching up with the girls, nursing a cup of bright red jungle juice offered to you by a friend of Redbird’s that you haven’t met before. You play a game of flip cup, and you catch his gaze lingering more than a few times. He asks if you want to partner with him for Battleships, and you giggle uncontrollably as Redbird tries to explain the rules. You notice New Guy’s hand on your back, and you wonder, are other people noticing too? If anyone told Jeremiah….

You flash him a small smile and mutter a “be right back” as you head for the washroom, noticing your steps feel a little less steady than usual. Man, are you a lightweight now? When you get to the washroom, you see there’s a line of several people waiting, and you have to place a hand on the wall for a moment to steady yourself. There’s no way you’re this drunk off of one jungle juice. 

You take out your phone and text Jere: Hey, not feeling well, where are you? 

Your text is immediately marked as read, and you wait for the little speech bubble to show up when he starts typing, but it doesn’t. Of course. 

You wait in the bathroom line for a while, but it doesn’t feel like it’s moving at all. You remember that you don’t actually have to use the bathroom, and you almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. You didn’t even want to come here tonight, and now you haven’t seen or heard from anyone in hours. You wonder if Taylor and Steven are outside with Jere.

You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you head back down the stairs, and you try not to look in the direction of the kitchen where the drinking games are still going on. When you quickly glance in, as you’re almost past the entryway, you see Redbird’s friend staring right at you. You speed up into the living room and scan the crowd looking for Steven or Taylor. No sign of them, and the music is so loud in here that your head hurts, and you start to feel cloudy. Maybe that last part isn’t the music. 

You call Jeremiah, and it rings over and over in your hand. You wait a moment and call again, but this time it doesn’t ring at all. The automated voice says “this number is not reachable”, followed by the dial tone, but it feels far away, like it’s underwater. Or maybe you’re dreaming it. This feels like the sort of nightmare you would wake up from at 5am, sweaty and shivering at the same time. 

Ok, think, if someone put something in your drink - who are you kidding, you know who it was - he'll probably be keeping an eye out for you now. You remember being at a party at this house once before and bringing a pile of beer-soaked towels to the laundry room, by the back door. You start to make your way across the living room towards that back hall, but your legs are starting to feel like they’re made of sand. Are you moving at all? It’s hard to tell. Suddenly, you’re walking through the arch into the back hallway, and as you look over your shoulder, you see him shouldering his way through the crowd, towards you. Your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t stop moving until you make it to the other side of the laundry room door. Your hands move on their own, searching for a lock, but you can’t make sense of the doorknob at all. Your breath is ragged as you look around the room for something to block the door with, but there’s nothing. You call Jeremiah again, and you hear the dial tone again. 

The doorknob rattles, but the door does not budge - a moment of relief. You did lock it, that’s good. 

Everything feels murky, but one thought is crystal clear in your mind. You take out your phone again, and make the call before you have a chance to change your mind. He answers on the second ring. 

--

“Hello?” 

“Conrad…” 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” - his concern is already palpable, and you try not to let it shake you. 

“I’m -” you sputter, choking on nothing. 

“Can you hear me? You’re muffled.” 

“Can you come pick me up?” 

“Of course. You’re at the frat party? Where’s Jeremiah?” -  your chest pangs.

“I dunno. We got in a fight earlier.”

“I’m getting in my car. Are you okay? Did something happen?” 

“...I think there was something in my drink.” - you realize how much you have to think about each breath now. Your feet feel like they’re melting into the floor. You sit down with your back against the dryer.

There’s a pause, and you wonder if you’ve lost him for a moment. 

“Where exactly are you in the house? Are you alone?” 

“I dunno, laundry room. ‘m alone, yeah” 

“Does the door have a lock? Can you lock it?” 

“I think I did.” - it occurs to you now that you probably won’t be able to get that door unlocked for him when he gets here. The idea feels far away, like someone else is making the realization. Your eyelids suddenly feel heavy, and you fight to keep them open. 

There are more sounds coming from the phone, but you aren’t able to piece together their meaning. Conrad, probably, but the words fly around you, and you can’t seem to catch them. Your eyes flutter closed, and you think maybe it’s ok if you rest them for a moment. A buzzing sound fills your ears, and you drift to sleep. 

--

You’re awoken by the sound of the door pounding, and you half-lift your head to look at it - still closed - but you can’t seem to move your limbs at all. You remember there was something you needed to do, but it’s slipped your mind. It must be something to do with the pounding. 

You hear a voice calling your name. The wind is rushing in your ears, but his voice cuts through. You wish you could get up and find him. 

The door opens quietly, and you feel a surge of panic before you see the face of the person entering. Conrad. You can’t make out what he’s saying, but his soothing words wash over you, and you look up at his face. The emotions there are too complex to read, but it doesn’t matter. You feel his hand on your shoulder, and your eyes close again. 

--

You wake up on a couch that you immediately recognize as Conrad’s: a soft brown suede, with a scratchy wool blanket against your skin. You can see him standing in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. You hear only his side of the conversation, voice hushed. 

“Hey, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.” 

“Yeah, well, I have her with me. I let her sleep for a bit, I think in the morning I'll bring her to urgent care, they'll probably do a blood test.” 

Your eyes flutter closed again.

“I don’t know, man, she was barely awake when I got there.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you. I wasn't going to go tonight, but she called and I answered. I’m not going to apologize for that.” 

A long pause.

“Look, I’m going to go check on her. I just didn’t want you to worry. I’ll update you, but only if she’s ok with that.” 

“Fine, bye."

After a moment, the couch moves as he sits on the end by your feet, and you half open your eyes, smiling softly at him. You wonder how long you slept.

Conrad's eyes meet yours and you try to read his expression. He looks tense, and a vein pulses at his temple.

"Hey." His voice comes out too sharp. For a moment you wonder if he's angry with you. He pauses, swallows, and starts again, softer, almost a whisper "Hey, what the hell happened tonight?"