Chapter 18: 18 - Did you roofie me?


    “Why’d you do it?”


    “Do what?” I countered innocently.


    He tilted his head, awarding me an unimpressed look. “You’re better than that. Answer the question.”


    I heaved a sigh, drew in a deep breath, straightened my spine and forced myself to meet his gaze,


    holding it steady as I tried to stare him out of countenance. He sat back, stretched out his legs andid


    his sped hands on the table top as he stared back, unwaveringly. I scowled.


    “Fine.” I sighed, averting my gaze. He was like a brick wall, unyielding. “Fine,” I repeated, stalling for


    time as I tried toe up with a distraction.


    “Here’s the thing,” I drawled conversationally, stalling even more as I came to the realization that the


    quaint almost empty ice-cream parlor had nothing to offer by way of a distraction.


    “Go on,” he urged as though he knew what I was thinking.


    I pressed my lips together, forcing them into the semnce of a smile.


    “Well, I...” I picked up the long aesthetically pleasing but not particrly practical spoon that came with


    my ice-cream and waved it in a circr all-epassing motion with all the authority of a college


    professor. “I was wondering. How did you find this ce? It’s so... it has a nice... aura. “


    That had to be the worst diversion tactic out there. While I was a bit curious about the answer, I couldn’t


    help cringing at how obvious the attempt was. This corner-of-an-alley struggling ice-cream parlor did


    not fit either of his personas, not the rich kid and definitely not the hardened criminal but such an


    obvious poorly constructed diversion technic didn’t suit me either. It was all I could do to not hide my


    face in shame.


    “Don’t change the subject.”


    I rolled my eyes as offhandedly as I could manage even though inwardly, my embarrassment quotient


    boiled over. ‘Can’t I win one battle today?’ a part of me wanted to scream.


    “I’m just curious. No matter how I look at it, it doesn’t fit.” My voice sounded just a little high pitched to


    my ears and despite my efforts, my eyes kept darting away.


    It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. I normally prided myself on being an excellent liar with no tells


    but here I was, acting like an amateur. It wasn’t my day and even on a good day, something about


    Masked Idiot threw me off my game. From the very first day he showed up at the library. There were at


    least ten better ways to have handled that besides agreeing to let him publicly stalk me. There was just


    something about him that made me keep doing these stupid things.


    I set my spoon down, an annoyed scowl making its way onto my face.


    “Because... It’s what I do. It’s what I’m supposed to do,” I answered brusquely, hoping to put him off


    with the attitude.


    He shook his head, a confused smile on his face.


    “What?”


    “You heard me.” My tone didn’t soften.


    “Doing that girl’s dirty work is what you’re supposed to do?” he questioned in a mocking tone. “That


    makes perfect sense.”


    His eye narrowed, not with suspicion but disbelief. Like he considered the idea a ridiculous notion. I


    shrugged, rubbing my hands together to warm up my cold fingers.


    “You hate her. She hates you. There’s no reason for you to do her dirty work,” he oversimplified. Like


    life is ever that simple.


    “Look,” I refrained from rolling my eyes, “it’splicated.”


    I picked up the spoon again, absently pushing it around in my ice-cream bowl while waiting for him to


    follow up with another of his infamous annoying questions.


    “Simplify it because I’m not following.”


    I rolled my eyes and dumped a spoonful of the ice-cream in my mouth. He was so predictable.


    “I’m going to have to plead the fifth,” I stated. “Not that I owe you an exnation.”


    “Your right to not incriminate yourself,” he vocalized offhandedly. “Wonderful. You might as well have


    just said you wanted me to be more suspicious of you. Also, we’re not in court.”


    “You know what the pleading the fifth means?” Surprise coloured my tone. Interest followed in its wake


    as soon as he guiltily averted his gaze.


    As awyer’s kid, I knew all sorts about thew, decidedly more than the average person but judging


    from the way his eyes were darting everywhere but at me, he hade into his knowledge by some


    means he couldn’t casually share.


    A light bulb went on in my head. He had been in a trial before. Probably for his criminal activities. It truly


    was wonder no one else had discovered his secret identity given how horrible he was at keeping any


    sort of secret.


    “I’m not just a pretty face,” he joked, a second toote for it to be believable. It also didn’t help that his


    face was colored with irritation.


    “You’re not even a pretty face,” I corrected, managing to withhold my scoff. “And don’t even try


    All rights ? N?velDrama.Org.


    convincing me there’s a brain somewhere behind that face. You have neither brains nor beauty.”


    I withdrew my hands from the table top and tucked them under myps to warm them up.


    “You’re a smart ass.”


    “And you’re not even a pretty face,” I countered ndly.


    His eyes narrowed in irritation but I couldn’t care less. He couldn’t have looked any less threatening


    than he did at the monent in this quaint out-of-a-’70s-movies ice-cream parlor. I shivered, pulling my


    hands out from under me to rub them up and down my arms. The parlor was much cooler than I had


    expected.


    “Is today the day you tell me who you’re working for?” I arched an eyebrow, pressing my palms against


    both of my ears to warm them up.


    “Not even close,” he replied tly.


    “Ohe on,” I cajoled. “Save me the trouble.”


    Absently, I wiped the light sheen of sweat off my mmy forehead.


    “You know I’ll get it out of you eventually. I’ll figure it out so you might as well,” I paused to draw in a


    breath, inattentively wondering why I felt breathless at all, “just tell me now.”


    “Not a cha...” He paused, brows furrowing.


    I arched an eyebrow, wordlessly asking what was wrong.


    “You look weird,” he announced a few beatster.


    “What a gentleman,” I automatically countered sarcastically, stretching the ends of my sleeves to cover


    my cold fingers. It really was too cold in the parlor. I was beginning to consider asking for the air con to


    be turned down.


    I shovelled another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth and nced at Masked Idiot, waiting for his


    spoon down. My gaze honed in on him. He wasn’t shivering like I was nor did he seem the least bit


    affected by the cold despite only having on a light tee shirt. What I had on was a lot thicker and I was


    actually starting to feel cold in my bones. It should’ve been the other way around.


    “You’re not cold.” It was supposed to be a question but it ended uping out as an usation.


    Thoughts raced through my mind in session. Why wasn’t he not cold? I was shivering. He should


    have at least seemed cold. Had he put something in my ice-cream? Was that it? I definitely hadn’t left


    him alone with it at any point but he was the one who suggested this ce. The waiter could be an


    aplice of his.


    My gaze shot to the softly snoring scrawny underweight waiter. Or maybe not.


    “Okay, I get that I’m involved in some sketchy stuff but that doesn’t mean I have to be cold,” he


    answered, annoyance coating his tone.


    He waspletely off point but I saw how he could have arrived there thanks to my usatory tone.


    “Sketchy is one word for it,” I muttered, wincing as my teeth chattered while voicing the words.


    Something was truly wrong.


    “You know what I mean.” He scowled.


    I refrained from rolling my eyes.


    “Calm down, Emotional Emily.” I winced at the reminder that came with the name. “I meant temperature


    wise, you don’t feel cold?” I rified.


    “Oh.” He had enough sense to look sheepish. “No. Why?”


    I wiped my sweaty forehead once more. “Weird.”


    “You feel cold?” he questioned.


    “Little bit.” I downyed.


    I was almost sure my teeth would start chattering soon regardless of whether I was talking or not.


    “Are you sick?” he asked, suddenly reaching across the table to touch my forehead.


    Sick? The idea sounded almost foreign. I hadn’t been sick in years.


    His hand made contact with my head for a few seconds beforemon sense kicked in and I leaned


    away. His question was all but forgotten as I red at the offending hand.


    “What was that?” I bit out.


    “You’re sick,” he diagnosed. “You have a fever. And your skin is mmy.”


    He wiped his hand dry with a napkin.


    I arched a brow, irritation coating my features.


    “Did you get an MB between yesterday and now?”


    “Thest time you saw me was almost a week ago,” he said. “Now I know you’re not feeling well for


    sure. Normal you would never make such a mistake.”


    I scowled.


    There was truth to that even though I had said it without thinking. Just a while ago I had been pissed at


    him for ghosting me for a week so unthinkingly or not, I should not have made such a silly mistake. Not


    unless something was wrong somewhere. I had been feeling off all day. I had chalked it up to residual


    feelings fromst night’s sh with my dad but maybe it was more. Maybe I wasing down with


    something.


    It would exin the queasy feeling in my stomach -it wasn’t about Emily after all- and the chills -not the


    ice-cream parlor’s fault after all- and the headache that I thought was just an aftereffect of crying


    throughout the night and the consequent bad day.


    I sighed resignedly, lifting one trembling hand to my forehead. It was a lot warmer than it should have


    been. Not to mention the hand tremors. If it was that cold in the building, there was no way I’d be at


    tremor stage while, judging from the looks of Masked Idiot and the snoring waiter, everyone else would


    be just fine.


    “You might be right.” I reluctantly acquiesced.


    “Hmm? What was that?”


    “Don’t push it.”


    ? ? ?


    I parked slowly, carefully, conscious of the way my hands shook. My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt


    but the alternative was letting my teeth chatter uncontrobly. Showing such weakness with Masked


    Idiot in the car was a big fat shing neon ‘no’ for me.


    Slowly, I got out of the car, carefully walking up to the door before I realized Masked Idiot was still in the


    car. I turned around.


    “What are you waiting for?”


    The look on his face answered my question.


    “I may be ill and out of sorts but I haven’t lost my mind.” I rolled my eyes.


    He arched a brow as though to say, ‘haven’t you?’


    I scowled, releasing my breath in one noisy whoosh.


    “No one is home. My mom travelled a while back for an out-of-state hearing and my dad is never home


    this early. Olly has violin practice that’llst till muchter,” I ground out. “I haven’t lost my mind.”


    “You haven’t.” He nodded.


    “Idiot,” I cussed under my breath, then called out, “You can keep sitting in the car though, dummy.”


    He grunted an unintelligible sound before getting out of the car. I pressed the lock button on the key fob


    and spun on my heel. The action made me lightheaded. I had to wait a few seconds before continuing


    to the door.


    Inserting the key of the front door into the keyhole proved to be a much tougher task than I was used


    to. My trembling hands connived with blurry double vision to work against me. I growled exasperatedly


    as I missed the keyhole for the umpteenth time, identally stabbing the key out of my hands. I


    heaved a sigh, my eyelids drifting shut for a second. I bent, picked it up and settled for feeling for the


    keyhole with my fingers the way a blind person would. I was inwardly thankful Masked Idiot hadn’t


    reached the door yet to see my clumsy fumbling.


    “How the mighty have fallen,” I muttered dejectedly when the key finally went it.


    “You’re shivering,” hemented, finally catching up to me.


    “You’re quite the observer, Sherlock.” I sniped, staggering into the house.


    He trailed in behind me, shutting the door in his wake.


    “Can it with the Sherlock jibes.” His expression made it clear he had had enough of it on the ride back


    home.


    In my defence, he was being unnecessarily annoying with his observations about my state of health


    and whether or not I should be the one behind the wheel on the drive back. He had been asking for all


    those jabs in my opinion.


    I made it to the stairs before the shaking in my legs and dizziness became unbearable. I propped


    myself up against the wall, taking deep breaths as I willed strength into my legs. How it hadn’t urred


    to me that I could be sick until Masked Idiot pointed it out despite things being this bad was beyond me.


    I knew I wasn’t particrly attentive to my body but this was an extreme for me.


    “What’s wrong?” He appeared at my elbow suddenly when he was done gawking at the living room.


    It urred to me in a distant part of my mind that this was the first time he was seeing any part of the


    house besides my room. Even with my eyes closed, I could see what he was seeing; the abstract


    polished wood sculpture, the mantle filled with fancy awards and framed certificates, the three blown up


    family photos just before the stairway, and the cream coloured furniture and brown panelling. I’d only


    had a handful of friends over a few times but one thing they all had inmon was the fact that they


    were intimidated by what Olly and I had dubbed our ‘mantle of honor.’


    “What’s wrong?” he repeated. “Why are you standing like that? And... are you whimpering?”


    “No. Nothing is wrong.” I forced myself into an upright position. “I was just waiting for you to finish


    gawking,” I lied.


    No way was I sacrificing my dignity to this boy.


    He shed me an obviously fake smile. I responded with one of my own before continuing up the stairs,


    slowly dragging one foot in front of the other. He followed leisurely behind me, taking in the sights.


    “Sit,” I ordered, shutting my room door behind us.


    I took out a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants before disappearing into the bathroom. My bath was quick,


    short and scalding but that had more to do with the fact that I had to prop myself up against the wall


    every few minutes to catch my breath than the fact that Masked Idiot was more or less alone in my


    home, free to explore everywhere and everything. Dressing up, on the other hand, was time consuming


    and slow. My muscles felt like putty. They were weak and everywhere ached but eventually, I managed.


    “Feeling better?”


    “Worse,” I answered, closing the bathroom door behind me.


    “Should I get you something to eat?” he asked, concern coloring his features. He angled the chair in my


    direction to get a better look at me as I crossed over to my bed. “Have you taken any meds?”


    “We just had ice-cream.” I answered,zily throwing my hair into a bun. I sank under the covers. “And


    yes, it’s probably just the flu so I took some from the medicine cab.”


    “You only took a few spoons of your ice-cream.”


    I shrugged under the covers even though he probably couldn’t tell. Luckily, he had enough sense to not


    open my curtains and I didn’t turn on the light before hopping into the shower so the room was


    rtively dark. Regardless, I pulled the covers over my head.


    “What did you have before that?” he probed.


    “Before what?”


    “The ice-cream.”


    “I don’t know.” I frowned, thinking back. “An apple.”


    “All day?” I could hear the incredulity in his tone.


    “It’s barely four o’clock. Calm down.” I yawned loudly, my words slurring. “I obviously haven’t had much


    of an appetite.”


    “I’m getting you something to eat,” he dered.


    I started to protest but it came out as a yawn so I gave up. I didn’t have it in me to argue at the


    moment.


    “If you get caught, I’m going to deny knowing you and im you’re an intruder.”


    The warning would’ve probablye off sterner if it didn’t get interrupted by a big yawn that had my


    shoulders quivering.


    “An intruder cooking for you? I highly doubt anyone will believe that but point taken, I’ll be careful.”


    I must’ve fallen asleep because I didn’t hear what he said next or the door close when he left my


    room.