Joe Goldberg is beginning to wonder if there's any more decent people in the world. With both Candace and Beck out of the picture, he's feeling lonely and starting to give up on love. That is, until Leila comes sobbing into Mooney's. Fragile and vul...
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What in the ever-living fuck happened last night?
My head...is a million pounds.
My throat is sandpaper.
My eyes are foggy.
Everything...hurts.
Shit.
I know this feeling.
Shitshitshitshitshit!
Okay, Leila. Stay calm. You can figure this out. Are you hurt?
Uh, no.
No searing pains, no jarring aches. No bruises. Good, good.
You can breathe now.
So, where are you?
Look around, what do you see?
Wait...light green walls, cream trim...you're in your tiny house.
How the hell did you get here?
What's the last thing you remember?
Mark taking Evan home.
So, "Joe?" I call out his name, letting it echo around the house as I touch and clear my throat. The dryness of my body shakes me a little more awake and forces out a cough. When no one responds, I stir.
If Joe were the one to take me home, he was gone now.
I exhale slowly through my nose and force myself to scan for my phone. Someone from last night must have seen something. Mark and Evan were gone, but Peter and Joe must have been around. I have to get in touch with one of them. Fast.
Cautiously, I pull myself forward. Blood rushes to every corner of my system, flooding me in a wave of prickly pain and dizziness. I hesitate before standing and slowly start to drag my much-too-heavy body across the floor, still attempting to piece together the night before. I remember...I remember...
Mark.
Evan.
Both gone.
Gone where?
Walking down the stairs. Stumbling out of view. Joe, where was Joe? How did I get separated?
Everything hurts. Heat dances across my face and fills my head with air.
Where is my phone? There's no way I could have climbed the stairs and made it back down to the couch to crash. I didn't hook it up, but whoever dropped me off may have thought to do that for me. I have to climb.
Up the loft.
I need that damn phone.
Now.
The trek is rough, I feel like a zombie groggily staggering forward. But halfway to the ladder, I freeze. Something catches my attention. A foreign square clinging to my fringe.
