side. A stream of puke trails down his cheek. He’s making gurgling noises and his chest is flapping rapidly in a strange way.
I drop my purse and rush around to his side of the couch. He’s choking on his own puke. I grab his shoulder and roll him onto his side with shaking hands. Throw up, the color of the hot wings he had at Oblivion and stinking of straight whiskey, come spewing out of his mouth. It dribbles down his chin and stains the beige couch cushion.
“We were having sex and he stopped moving.”
I hang my head as Kent continues to throw up, rubbing his back and ignoring the naked woman talking my ear off.
“We weren’t even doing anything kinky. I was on top because he was too drunk.”
Kent starts to shake as if he’s cold, but his skin is on fire. Panic floods my system. His hands shake and his eyes are unfocused. “Kent. Talk to me.” I ignore his puke and touch his cheek, patting it gently to get his attention.
His eyes attempt to focus but they can’t seem to settle on one specific spot before he gives up. He continues to vomit. I turn him on his side once more.
“Call 911,” I order.
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I gave him something. I’ll go to jail.”
“His life is worth more to me than your jail time.”
She grabs her panties and pulls them on. “Not to me. I’m not letting some hot loser ruin my life with his bullshit.” She starts putting on the rest of her clothes, and then she grabs her purse. “He had Ecstasy. Put him in the bathtub and make the water cold. Keep him cold.” She slams the door shut on her way out.
I stare down at Kent helplessly. Dread fills me. My purse is by the door. My cell is on the floor near it. I don’t want to leave him for five seconds.
“James!” I scream. “James!”
I realize James can’t hear me. He has no idea Kent is seizing right in front of me. The smells of puke and whiskey surround me like a nefarious cloud. I panic. I’m going to lose him. Kent will never wake up again. He’ll never know I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since he opened the door and invited me inside.
Snap out of it! I sniff my tears and grab his arm. He’s on fire. He needs cold water fast. I start to think of what I need to do, in order.
First, get Kent into the bathtub.
I try and pull him but he’s too heavy. He’s like an immovable muscled rock. His naked body lies there shaking uncontrollably. Puke streams out of his lips as if there are too many toxins in him to stop. I’ll have to pull him. I gently roll him until he falls onto the floor, cringing when he lands. Grabbing his arms, I begin to tug him across the living room, into the hall, and then to the bathroom. I know I’m not thinking straight. I can’t. All I see is the unfocused look in his eyes, as if Kent is drifting away from me forever. My heart grips in my chest and I pull on him harder.
When I get him to the bathroom I leave him lying on the rugs and turn the water on to fill the bathtub, making sure it’s ice cold. As I wait for it to fill I kneel down near Kent’s face and put my fingers in his mouth to make sure his throat isn’t blocked. I wipe his puke off on my work shirt and peel his eyelids apart.
“Kent,” I try and get his attention. “Kent, wake up.”
Nothing. His eyes have rolled into the back of his head. My stomach falls. “Kent!” I shout, smacking his face hard. Nothing. Not even a growl of pain. My own hands are shaking. “Wake up, baby. Please wake up. Kent, wake up for me.”
Each failed attempt is like a kick to the ribs. I can’t breathe. At least he is. I press my ear to his mouth and let his slow, labored breaths fan across my cheek. That’s a good sign in this horrible situation.
“Kent,” I attempt again, whispering and praying with all my might he’ll answer me.
Low in his throat I hear a groan.
Relief washes over me. I grab hold of his face, still unbearably handsome even covered in vomit and sweat. I wipe some of it away and then rinse my