Overdose Ch. 03

I awake in a cold sweat. Before I can even shake the sleep from my brain, I know something is wrong. My mind reels from an oddly vivid dream - one that makes no sense. It takes a moment for me to calibrate my surroundings. Right, in the same room I woke up yesterday.

Somehow, I feel much worse.

It is then that I realise that I'm about to throw up.

I detach myself from the bed and try to stand up. I barely get an inch before I'm on the floor, shaking. I curl myself up into a ball. All I can think is that I am going to die.

"Ashford!" I try to yell but it is more of a whisper. My eyes are half-closed when the door bursts open.

"What the fuck?" I hear a voice whisper. Then a hand is pressed to my damp forehead and I think I may retch.

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"What the fuck did you do, Rosia?"

A brief part of myself realises that's not my name. The rest of me doesn't give a shit.

A feeling of weightlessness overtakes me as he carries me into another room, one I haven't seen before. I shake even in his arms. He sits me in front of the toilet and I've never been more grateful. The leftovers of yesterday's soup hit the bottom of the toilet bowl. Gross.

Another person is in the room now but I can't understand their harsh words. They are shouting and it hurts my head. Eventually, the feminine voice leaves.

"Open your mouth, Jennifer," a voice calls.

Too dazed to do anything but obey, I do as I'm told. Something sweet and boozy is forced in my mouth and I suddenly find myself ravenous. Insatiable. Using any remaining strength I have left, I grab the wrist of the hand that supplied the fruit and lick the juice from their fingers, consumed only by the need to have more, just a drop of that juice.

Ashford yanks his hand from my grasp. A rumbling sound emanates from my chest. "Breathe," he says. He looks pale.

I do as he asks and the fog in my mind soon clears. Everything clears; the shakes, the nausea.

I feel fine.

"Better?" Ashford asks.

"What..."

"I knew that all that shit you were taking must be taking a toll on your body. Why would you do that to yourself?" It sounds like a reprimand for a child. I probably deserve it.

I realise what he means. Withdrawals. Could I even remember the last day I hadn't had a shot of something with breakfast? Only then to wash it down with a night of drinking? I'd had my fair share of withdrawals, weekends where I decided to quit everything cold turkey only to end up hugging the toilet come Monday night, but they had never felt like this.

"What did you give me?"

He squints down at me. "Fermented Faerie fruit."

"So, alcohol?" I felt fine. Maybe faeries are lightweights.

"A bit stronger. I think it may be best if you lie down for the rest of the afternoon. Faerie food has... unpredictable outcomes on humans."

I start to feel a buzz. Nothing more than I can handle. I bring myself to my feet.

"I'm fine. Plus, we need to work on how to get me out of here." I shake my head to try and rid the effects of the booze.

He shifts from foot to foot. "I don't know of any way to get you back, Jennifer. I've already told you."

"Well, how did you get me here in the first place?" I push, trying to ignore the way my head is swimming.

"I... I don't know. One minute I was watching you sitting on the pavement, the next I was there. Then you collapsed and I caught you and I was back. With you. Look, I don't understand it either."

"It's obvious then, just work your little voodoo magic shit and poof me back. Work will be pissed if I'm late for shift. Again." The room starts to sway a little. "In fact, I'm sure they'll fire me." They probably should have months ago.

He blows out a breath, irate. "That's not how it works, ok?"

"Well, is there anyone else we can ask? I mean, you can't be the only faerie that exists," I say exasperatedly.

He shuts down. "No. It's not happening. End of story."

"You're being such an arse. Why don't you just ask one of your faerie friends if any of them can actually do some actuallyuseful magic because I'm-"

"There is no one else here," he interrupts, voice low. "I've been banished here for more years than you've been alive so if you want to go out and try to find someone to ask, be my guest."

With that, my mouth finally closes. My vision begins to blur. I take it back, this fruit shit is strong. I can already feel my good sense evaporating into air.

"Do you know how weird this is for me?" I say suddenly, the words slurring from my mouth before I'm even aware I'm speaking.

"No. Tell me."

"It's probably difficult for you to imagine. But try to," I continue. "You're a 20-something year old girl, right?" His eyebrows rise. "And you're just going about your business in your shitty little life when some weird, pretty, blue guy steals you away to a fucking kids-book world. Where faeries are real. Like, what the fuck, right?"

"Pretty," he echoes, face amused, hardness erased. "You are definitely drunk. I knew a whole segment would be too much for you."

"I feel fine," I lie. I twirl around in the dress I still haven't taken off. "Do you get what I mean though? Like, you'd probably feel the same if you were me."

"If I were you, I think I'd make better life choices."

I scrunch up my nose. "Oh, yeah? Go on, tell me, elaborate on all the ways I've fucked myself up." I've most likely heard them all anyways.

His eyes glint. "For starters, if I were you, I would make better decisions than Max. Where did you find him? Some dark back alley you chose to walk down because, for some reason, you seem to enjoy endangering your life?"

I giggle. "You know too much about me, I think. It makes me feel weird."

"You make me feel weird," he says. His tone changes but I'm not quite lucid enough to understand the meaning behind it. "Come on, let's take you to bed."

My mouth falls open.

He rolls his eyes. "Not like that. Although, I like where your mind is headed."

I shake him off and follow him back to my room, where I promptly collapse onto the bed. He sighs.

"When does this stuff wear off? And why don't you have some with me?"

He pauses at the door, peering over at me intensely, like I'm under a microscope. "I don't know. I figure it will wear off within the next few hours, and it doesn't quite affect me in the same way as you."

Ashford goes to leave before I call out to him, "Stay."

His surprise is unhidden. He chuckles lightly, the sound almost bitter. "You are going to hate me in the morning. But, fine, my curiosity always outweighs my sense."

The bed dips down as he lies beside me. His feet dangle over the edge. We stay in silence for a while and it is almost comfortable, before I break it. "What is it like being non-human?" I ask just for the sake of filling the silence.

He laughs. "From what I've seen, being a faerie seems much more fun than the daily slog of humanity. Then again, the only real glimpse I've seen is through your eyes, and I doubt you're a reliable narrator."

"The stream," I muse. "You've seen my life. Have you ever seen me naked?"

"Ah," he says. "Though I am not human, I am still a man. 57 years of no women, no anything, has left me desperate."

I sit up. He follows suit.

"I think I hate it here," I tell him even though I'm not sure it is true.

His eyes lose some of their focus. Or mine do, I can't really tell. "It used to be my favourite isle. My mother always did like irony."

"Did you see me have sex?" My face feels numb with alcohol and my brain grows foggier yet.

"Yes," he says. "But only once."

Absentmindedly, I trace the line of his jaw, an almost exact mirror of his actions last night. I expect him to push me away, but he stays rigidly still.

"Who is Rosia?" The name comes back to me from earlier, when he had called me by it.

The effect is immediate. Whatever understanding that had passed over us vanishes, and he is by the door in minutes, his honey-coloured eyes narrowed. He looks like anger personified. "Don't speak that name. Now or ever. Or you will come to hate this place that much more. Rest, human."

It isn't long after that that I drift off to sleep, trapped princes and palaces invading my dreams.

***

I awake once more with a mild hangover. It reminds me of Tuesday mornings, a subtle reminder of my life in another realm.

The taste of the fruit still lingers on my tongue; sweet and addicting and otherworldly. I want more, but I'll be damned if I have to ask Ashford for more. The memory of his power over me lingers too, how he can magic me into whatever he wills. It is a thought that cools my blood.

The door opens and a stout woman walks in, ram's horns identifying her as Besta. She studies me with her beady, black eyes. "You're awake," she comments in stilted English.

"Oh, am I?" I am not good first thing after waking.

She frowns. "Of course." Sarcasm, it seems, is lost on faeries. "I will call him."

For an old-looking woman, she exits fast, quicker than I can ask her not to. Instead of waiting here for his royal pain in the arse, I am going to explore the island more. Not only for its beauty, but something in me doesn't trust Ashford. Maybe it's the fact that he stole me away from home.

I wander down the winding corridor, trying to remember which way I came, as I attempt to find a way out. I couldn't even remember what floor I was on. Good start. If I walk around long enough, I'm sure to findsomething.

"Jennifer."

It isn't Besta's staccato tone. Which leaves but one person. I groan.

"Where is it that you are going?" He asks. I turn around slowly.

"Out," I answer simply.

"I don't recommend that." He stalks closer.

"That is a shame," I say, monotone.

His eyes narrow. "Someone who is as blatantly directionally challenged as you would do well not to venture out into the forest. Not if you would be opposed to dying."

"Well, it doesn't do me good to stay holed up in here for God knows how long. And listening to you bores me half to an early grave so I'm almost there."

He blinks. "Your human ways of metaphor are rather disconcerting."

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I am not used to hyperbole and outright lies. I forget, sometimes, how freely it comes to you."

"Why are you banished?" I may as well come out and ask it. It seems like the only thing I'm not without here, is time.

Surprise paints his face before he dissolves back into indifference. "It is a long story. One that, as I'm sure you can imagine, is not something I enjoy delving into."

"It has something to do with her, doesn't it?" I have no idea, I'm bored and throwing out guesses, but the way he flinches confirms it.

"I have warned you against mentioning-"

"You told me not to say her name. Which I didn't," I point out.

Surprise again. "That is true," he agrees. "And you are right."

Silence descends on us for a beat.

"Where were you when you travelled over to the human realm?" I ask. "Maybe there's some sort of portal that-"

"No. There is not." His tone is firm.

I huff. My legs are tired from walking and my brain is tireder yet, from everything. I slide down the corridor wall and sit down. Seemingly amused, Ashford follows, sitting across from me. I move my body diagonally so our feet don't touch.

"What was it like being locked away for 57 years?" I ask.

He laughs bitterly. "I would be surprised if any goodness in me hadn't been drained from my soul by time."

I swallow. "Intense, ok."

"To be on one's own for so long is a cruel thing. Maybe you will soon understand."

I don't like the implication. "If I got here, I can get back. No way am I living my retirement years with you."

He laughs again, softer. "You misunderstand. Those that live in Faerie do not age beyond maturity. Not me or you."

I can't help the small gasp that escapes my lips. "So I could be stuck here for eternity and never age a day?"

He nods. "And such is my punishment."

"Which you've bound me to until I can find a way back," I say. It finally hits me that this is a reality. That I could be stuck here for an eternity. No company except for Ashford and Besta.

"There are always ways we can make it more interesting," he says, as he leans forward, two fingers gently touching my ankle. Then my calf. Then trailing up-

"Stop," I tell him. "Don't be a dick."

His face sharpens as he pulls away. "I think you will come around, Jennifer. I think one day you will beg for my touch."

"I think you're a creep," I say.

It's a push too far and his eyes burn gold. "Say sorry," he says, magic dripping off each word.

"I am sorry, Ashford," I reply automatically in a voice that doesn't belong to me. The utter control he wields over me is earth-shatteringly terrifying.

He smiles wickedly before leaving me on the floor, heart beating wildly.