Page 28 of Michael
I’m concerned by her sudden lack of alertness; it’s not even that late. As I gaze at her, the same heavy feeling remains, and my wariness increases.
“Hey,” I call her, a bit rudely, as I change lanes and lower my speed. “Open your eyes for me. Can you do that?” I’m talking loud enough to wake her.
“They’re open. I’m just tired,” she moans, curling her legs up on the seat.
She’s responsive, but I don’t like how her voice drags on. “Have you taken any meds in the last hour?” I have to ask. My pulse quickens with apprehension.
“No, I…” She knits her brows. “Wait.” Her eyes barely crack open. “I took the ones you gave me. The painkillers, for my wrist.”
“When was that?” I’m far from relieved.
“Back at the shop, when I went upstairs...” she says, resting her head back in the seat.
I stare at Amanda, not quite believing what she said. “You took the pills I gave you?”
She nods slowly. “Just a while ago.”
My mind races, trying to piece together the timeline of events. Has she taken anything else? Is she under the influence of any other drugs? I need more information before I can make a decision on what to do next.
“Are you sure that’s all you’ve taken?” I probe cautiously, my voice soft but serious.
“Yes,” she replies firmly, though her voice is heavy with exhaustion.
I take a deep breath and try to remain collected. Although it’s not ideal that Amanda has taken painkillers while in such a fragile state, at least it appears that her judgement hasn’t been compromised by any other substances.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I mumble, shaking my head. Not unless… “Did you take those with water?”
She shakes her head and scrunches her nose in disapproval. Without opening her eyes, she declares, “No water for me. I had a bottle of wine left and used that.”
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, feeling a wave of anger and frustration. “That changes everything.”
“I need to know how much wine you had,” I state firmly, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I push down on the accelerator.
“A sip or two,” she replies sleepily.
I make an abrupt U-turn, heading back in the direction we’ve come from.
“What’s going on?” Amanda asks groggily, her head lolling to the side. “Where are we going?”
An alarm rings loud and clear in my head at this news—alcoholic drinks paired with medicine can be a very dangerous combination. Especially if you’re already exhausted and running low on energy like Amanda is right now. Fortunately, she didn’t drink that much and doesn’t require medical care.
“What’s happening?” she asks.
“I’m taking you home,” I tell her with no inclination.
“But, we need… the kodi!” she pleads, as she rests her head on my shoulder. I won’t deny it: it feels good.Reallygood.
Amanda wraps her small hand around my arm and studies it in surprise. “Whoa. You’re really ripped,” she says with a giggle.
I start to smile, but refrain. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before you fall asleep. You should never mix alcohol with painkillers, especially those, all right? It could be dangerous,” I warn her in a warm, caring tone. “Where do you live?”
Silence in reply.
“Amanda?”
I stop at a red light and look over my shoulder. Amanda is fast asleep.
“Make thatless than a minute,” I muse, shooting up my brow.
