Chapter Text
“How to Make Enemies and Drive People Away”
That was definitely a book Frank Langdon could write.
No one at the Pitt, maybe no one in the entire world, could offer better advice than he could on how to meet someone extraordinary, form an inexplicable connection within hours, and then, in a handful of seconds, destroy everything by saying the wrong thing. It was the kind of skill he ought to list on his résumé.
From across the room, he watched Dr. Melissa King arrive for another shift, responding to greetings in her own particular way: somehow both warm and withdrawn at once. It was good to see her smiling again after the past few days, when she had been so quiet, so unreachable, unable to find it in herself to respond to anything her coworkers tried to do to cheer her up.
“Would you look at that,” Robby said, stepping up beside him near the door to Bed 07, watching Melissa interact with the others. “Good to see her like this again. I was about to ask her what the hell happened on her first day here to shut her down like that out of nowhere.”
Frank swallowed.
He knew exactly what had happened. Him.
And if even Robby, who had spent the first day of the new interns half-lost in his own head, had noticed the difference, then it had been bad.
“You think so? Didn’t catch my eye. Thought that was just… her,” he lied, focusing on a pile of charts abandoned on the nurses’ station.
Robby turned to look at him as if something had gone fundamentally wrong, like an alien had taken over Dr. Langdon’s body and was now saying things that made it obvious to anyone paying attention that the real one was gone.
“Right. Well. What matters is that she seems better. Back to work.”
He gestured toward the gurney being rushed through the doors with an elderly man clutching a shattered leg, blood spilling freely from an open fracture.
The sight snapped Frank into motion. Adrenaline surged through him, hot and immediate, flooding his veins. The kind that wouldn’t let him sleep for three days unless it burned itself out properly. The kind he depended on more than he cared to admit.
His thoughts flickered inevitably back to her. The blonde doctor glanced up just as he passed, and Frank nearly collided with her. For a split second, he thought he saw her flinch at his presence.
That small, instinctive recoil made something inside his chest sink lower.
Melissa King had been kind. Gentle. She had brightened his first day at Pitt in ways he hadn’t expected, hadn’t even realized he needed. And now… Now they were worse than strangers.
Of course we are, he thought bitterly. That’s what happens when you threaten someone’s job on their first day, Frank Langdon.
He reached the gurney and called out for Santos. The girl was abrasive and unapologetic, but she was competent. And at least she didn’t look at him like she was afraid of him.
Unlike his other intern.
As they wheeled the patient down the hall, Frank scanned the space for a glimpse of blonde hair.
Nothing.
Good.
At least he could stop feeling like a piece of shit for five minutes and focus on his job.
September 5th, 2025
Frank had his head buried deep inside his locker when Melissa approached, and so he didn’t see her coming.
Throughout the shift, her presence had seemed to brighten the entire department, especially after they handled the victims from the festival shooting, but in that moment, when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, he turned and accidentally knocked the vial he’d been slipping into his bag onto the floor; it felt like all the light in the world went out at once.
Dr. King lowered her gaze, eyes settling on the small bottle between them. She blinked and there was clearly a question forming on her lips. Neither of them bent to pick the vial up, and in that stillness, everything that needed saying was said. The label had twisted upward just enough to show the name: LORAZEPAM.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was dense. Full. Final. When she looked back at him, the disappointment in her eyes was quiet, but it hit harder than any accusation ever could.
“Dr. Langdon…” she began. His mouth went dry instantly. He knew exactly what would come next: it was wrong, illegal, she needed to tell. He cut her off before the words could take shape.
“Dr. King, I suggest you stay out of this. Let’s not ruin this day, please.”
She faltered, something small and fragile breaking behind her expression. Damn it. It had taken so much just to get past her walls, and now this. Fucking idiot. A cold wave of shame crept up his spine, sharpened by the edge in his own voice, the one that made her shrink almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not good at lying,” she said at last, barely above a whisper.
“Then pretend it’s a dream,” he shot back, his tone hardening further, like distance could shield him from what he was doing. What the hell?
He had never imagined speaking to a colleague like that, least of all someone who had already come to matter more than she should have in such a short time, but fear coiled tightly in his chest, hissing: she’ll tell, and everything ends.
“I’m being serious, Dr. King,” he continued, unable to stop himself now. “You may not be good at lying, but I am. And they’ll believe whatever I say over you. Don’t put yourself… well, us, in that position.”
She stared at him, wounded, then took a step back. He waited for what she would say, some accusation that would give him something to push against, but she just turned away in silence and left.
It left something bitter lodged deep in his chest. What the hell did I just do?
Frank dropped into a crouch, grabbed the vial, and shoved it into his bag, gripping it so tightly he was genuinely surprised it didn’t shatter in his hand.
For a while, he held on to the idea that, at the very least, the day could not get any worse.
That illusion lasted until he pushed open the door to the rooftop.
He had gone up there to get away from the noise of the ER, from the constant pressure of decision after decision, from the lingering taste of failure left behind by the woman who had died in his hands not long before. She had arrived already fading, her heart stuttering toward silence, but holding her there, suspended between life and death, only to be the one who declared the end… It was too much, even after years as a doctor.
He needed air. Distance. Something that did not smell like antiseptic and loss. But the moment the door opened, he understood that distance was not what he was going to get.
Melissa stood near the railing, too close to it, her hands wrapped tightly around the metal like she needed something solid to anchor herself. Her whole body trembled in a way that was subtle enough to go unnoticed by most people, but not by him.
He took a few steps forward, then hesitated. A thought came, unwelcome and immediate: maybe he was the reason she was there. Maybe going any closer would only make things worse. The possibility settled heavily in his chest, but it did not outweigh the other instinct, the one that refused to let him walk away from her like that, not after everything that had already happened.
Before he could choose whether to keep his distance or close it, she heard him. The faint sound of his steps against the concrete was enough. She turned quickly, startled.
She was not crying. That struck him immediately. Her face looked drained, the color leached from it, her features set in a way that suggested exhaustion rather than release. The shadows beneath her eyes were darker than he remembered, and now that he saw them properly, he wondered how long they had been there without him noticing.
“I was just heading back,” she said. Her voice carried a fatigue that went beyond anything physical.
“No, please. Don’t go. You don’t have to. Not because of me.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted, already moving toward the door.
He reached out without thinking and touched her shoulder. The reaction was immediate. Her body stiffened under his hand, almost like the contact itself were painful. The realization hit him just as quickly, and he pulled his hand away as though burned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, trying to recover, though the question felt inadequate even as he said it. “You look exhausted.”
She didn’t meet his eyes and only nodded.
“I’m fine. Just normal fatigue. This place is crazy.”
“If you need to go home early…”
“No.” The answer came quickly, cutting him off. She seemed to steady herself, seeming aware of how abrupt it had sounded. “I just needed a break. Because of the patient, you know.”
“Right. Of course. Me too.”
He let out a small laugh that felt completely out of place the moment it left him. The sound seemed to linger awkwardly in the space between them, and he immediately regretted it. There was something deeply wrong about laughing in that context, about trying to bridge the distance between them with something so poorly chosen.
No response. She simply continued toward the door, opened it, and disappeared down the stairwell without looking back.
Frank remained where he was for a moment longer, then dragged a hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes like that might somehow erase the last few minutes. He waited until he was certain she was gone before letting out a strained sound of frustration that echoed briefly in the empty space.
It wasn’t the dead patient. She hadn’t been there, he remembered. She had not been part of that case. She had not seen that woman die.
That was not why she looked like that.
He leaned back against the wall, staring out at nothing in particular as the realization settled in. For days now, she had been moving through the hospital with a heaviness that did not match the surface-level improvement everyone else seemed so relieved to see. Even when she smiled, it felt temporary, something that faded the moment she thought no one was paying attention.
She had told him she was not good at lying. He believed her. Which meant that whatever she was carrying, she was carrying it alone, and it was eating away at her in ways she could not conceal for long. Even his warning, his thinly veiled threat, had not lightened the burden. If anything, it seemed to have made it worse. It was like something she was carrying herself. Her secret. Her crime. It wasn’t fair.
By the time he returned to the emergency room, the grief he had felt over the patient’s death had already begun to transform into something else. Anger came more easily. It was sharper, more familiar, and far easier to carry than the weight of failure.
The shift dragged on for another three hours. Whenever his attention was not fully consumed by the demands of the job, his eyes drifted across the room, searching for her without meaning to. Each time he caught a glimpse of her, he found himself looking for signs, small indications that she was better, that whatever he had done had not caused lasting damage.
He told himself he was overthinking it. That he was projecting. But the unease remained.
By the time Frank found himself near the locker room, the shift had already begun to blur at the edges, the accumulated exhaustion settling into his body in a way that felt both familiar and increasingly difficult to ignore. He had just finished organizing his things when voices drifted in from the corridor, low but clear enough to catch his attention.
“I called her,” Whitaker was saying. “I even told her you specifically asked me to invite her! I figured maybe knowing even the grumpiest woman in this hospital wanted her around would cheer her up. She still said no. Claimed she had to see her sister.”
“That’s not true,” Santos replied without hesitation. “Her sister is traveling with her boyfriend.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“Heard her telling Javadi. One of the few moments she didn’t look completely dissociated. Seriously, something is fucking wrong with her. She looks like she’s about to snap. Her hand was shaking during a suture today.”
“Do you think we should tell Dr. Robby?”
“If this keeps up, yeah. For her sake, of course, but also so she doesn’t kill someone by accident.”
Frank felt his throat tighten as the words settled in. No. If they went to Robby, if Robby spoke to her and asked directly what was wrong, she would not be able to lie. She had said as much herself, and he had seen enough to believe it. The image formed in his mind with uncomfortable clarity: her trying to answer, her voice faltering, the truth forcing its way out despite her efforts to contain it. And then everything would unravel.
His hand moved almost unconsciously toward his bag, fingers brushing against the small bottle inside. A new one. He had told himself it would be the last.
Not because he intended to stop. He knew himself well enough not to pretend that. But something had to change. He needed distance from the hospital supplies, from the risk of being caught in something so easily traced back to him. A different approach, something quieter, less visible. A prescription, perhaps. Something forged. Smaller doses, enough to take the edge off without drawing attention.
Even if it meant enduring a certain level of discomfort. Even if it meant pain.
The thought lingered, and then, unbidden, another followed, darker and more reckless. In that moment, even something like fentanyl did not seem entirely unreasonable.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He would tell Melissa.
He would make it clear that he was no longer taking anything from the hospital. That whatever she had seen, whatever she had been forced to carry, was no longer happening. Perhaps that would be enough to ease the pressure on her, to allow her to let go of whatever tension had been building over the past few days.
Unlike Robby, who even though he enjoyed listening to Princess and Perlah’s gossip, pretended to disapprove of it, Langdon always made it clear that he not only encouraged the exchange of information but also wanted to be included. It was a way of keeping an eye on everything, to know whether anyone knew his dirty little secret and, more recently, to find out if something more worrying was going on with Melissa.
He still hadn’t told her about the decision he’d made the day before. He had tried, looking for her among the beds, but she avoided him like the devil avoids the cross. As he approached Dana’s station, he heard the nurses talking. Perlah was complaining to Princess about her shift changes.
“I’m not saying I miss you to death, you jerk, but yeah, you’re missed during the day. I barely see you anymore.”
“That’s not true. I’m only taking night shifts on the days when that hellhole of a nightclub decides to let people in.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you went to nightclubs, Princess,” Frank cut in. She rolled her eyes. The fact that they were speaking in English around him and didn’t shut the conversation down right away was a sign that they accepted him as part of the gossip crew.
“If only I still had the energy and desire for that, Dr. Langdon. I’m talking about the new little hellhole that opened next to my building.”
“Problems with loud music? You should call the police.”
“And bring down the wrath of all the addicts and dealers who hang out in that dump? No way.” That information lit a bulb in Langdon’s head.
“Does that happen a lot around there? I thought your neighborhood was quieter.”
“It usually is. I guess that’s why they chose an abandoned warehouse there to turn into a nightclub. It’s not the kind of place that usually attracts police attention, and I’ve seen plenty of people grinding their teeth in the street in the early morning, so I know exactly what goes on. Besides, it’s not even the sound that bothers me. They insulate it. But the walls are right up against my building and they vibrate! I hate it. That’s why I’ve been preferring to work on the night shifts when they announce something, and that’s why Perlah is on my case!”
“Stop being such a scaredy-cat, Princess. Just call the police. They won’t even know it was you.”
“Admit you can’t live without my company and I’ll think about it.”
Perlah let out an ironic laugh and walked away. Langdon took the opportunity.
“What’s the name of this nightclub?”
“Old Technology,” she replied. “Why? Thinking about paying it a visit?”
“Not even if I wanted to. Abby’s been on my case about the dog, you know. I can’t just suddenly turn into a clubber.”
“Oh, the dog. Abby didn’t kick you out over that? What a miracle.”
“Came close,” Langdon replied, and it was true. If it weren’t for the kids getting attached to the dog, he was sure he would have received divorce papers the next day. Things with Abby just weren’t getting better. “Anyway, just curious. If you’re so scared to report it, maybe I’ll do you that favor.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Princess said, and rushed off to answer a call from Dana on the other side of the ward.
Frank mulled over the new information. He hoped Princess would forgive him, but he had no intention of reporting anything. What he wanted was to talk to the people at the club and find something that might help him replace the benzos.
During his break, Frank took the opportunity to look up the nightclub on Instagram. He found it after scrolling through a few profiles. @ot.club had around 1,500 followers, which wasn’t much, but the photos had at least 500 likes each, which meant those 1,500 people were probably loyal regulars rather than random followers. It was an underground club, but quite active. They announced sets every Wednesday and Friday night, and even some events on Mondays. He checked what would be playing the next day and didn’t recognize the DJs, but felt a bit foolish for even trying. He hadn’t set foot in a nightclub or a rave since he met Abby (who hated parties) at least ten years ago. If someone asked him to play a current hit, he’d probably play “Titanium.”
It would be a TRASH FRIDAY, according to the announcement. He’d have Saturday off. Perfect. He’d pay OT a visit and look for some poison to replace his current one.
He opened Google and started searching the news for the drugs that had been scaring people the most recently. As a doctor, of course he already knew most of them, but as an older, out-of-touch man, he needed more information.
He paused on a report about two pills that were gaining popularity among users of synthetic drugs: Blitz and Bliss. Bliss goes up and Blitz comes down, the interviewees said. The first was a type of pill that mixed MDMA, cocaine, and caffeine. A bomb. The second was caffeine and something believed to be heroin or ketamine mixed with oxy. While the first was sought after by young people who wanted to dance all night with their hearts racing, the second was the choice of those who wanted to ease social anxiety and feel calmer while chatting at the bar and flirting. He opened TikTok and searched for more about Blitz, finding a funny video of someone saying that if they had known they would feel so focused and calm in a nightclub with it, they would have swapped their ADHD meds for the lime-green pill.
Okay, that sounded promising. Frank would give it a try.
He had just started watching a video about the twin pill, Bliss, when he saw Melissa walk past the break room. He had tried to find her more than once before the end of the shift, but each attempt ended the same way. Either she was nowhere to be seen, or she seemed to move away the moment he approached, acting like some internal alarm warned her of his presence before he could even speak.
Frank closed the video about the purple pill and put his phone away, taking the opportunity to call out to his colleague. She looked tired in a way that went beyond simple fatigue. She stifled a yawn as she walked, her focus elsewhere.
“Dr. King, could I speak with you for a moment?”
She stopped. Her shoulders stiffened, her hands closing into fists at her sides before she slowly turned to face him. There was a delay, a small but noticeable pause before she fully committed to the movement, as if she needed those extra seconds to prepare herself.
“Is this about the appendectomy earlier?” she asked. “I know we could have been faster, but I needed to make sure she wasn’t pregnant…”
“It’s not that,” he said, cutting in gently. “Could you come in for a second?”
She hesitated, but eventually stepped inside. He closed the door behind them, the soft click of the latch sounding louder than it should have.
“Listen,” he began, choosing his words with care, “I’ve noticed you seem tense, and I think… I think part of that might be because of me.”
“Dr. Langdon, I…”
“No, please. Just let me say this.” He forced himself to continue. “I stopped. I’m not taking anything from the hospital anymore.”
For a brief, fragile second, he expected to see relief, but her expression didn’t change.
“Look, I have nothing to do with your life. Don’t worry,” she said quietly, and she was really bad at lying, because she looked like she had everything to do with his life and his problems.
“Melissa…” He corrected himself quickly. “Dr. King, please. I know what I asked of you wasn’t fair. I don’t want to involve you in any of this. If you want, you can even check my bag if you want.”
“I do not want to do that.”
He almost smiled, bitterly. He had forgotten how literal she was.
“I was joking.”
“Oh.”
“But I meant the rest,” he continued. “You don’t need to lose sleep over this anymore. In fact, I would say that you can finally sleep a little.”
Something in her expression hardened.
“With all due respect, Dr. Langdon, my lack of sleep is not related to what you do or don’t do here. I have my own problems,” she answered, her voice steady. “My life, difficult as it may be to believe, has its own complications.”
He blinked. He had been a charming guy with great communication skills in the past. When had he become this mess that was always saying the wrong thing?
“But… I’m glad to hear what you said. I hope you really are stopping. Your family must be a good support system right now.”
“Yeah,” he lied.
It was easier than telling her the truth and admitting that the thing unraveling him had nothing to do with pain anymore, and everything to do with silence. With absence. With the growing, hollow space inside his own home that he couldn’t face.
“Right,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“That’s all. Thank you.”
“For what?”
He didn’t know. He had not fully understood what he was thanking her for. For listening, perhaps. For not exposing him. For still standing there and engaging with him, even if only out of obligation.
He said nothing.
The door opened abruptly, and Santos stepped in, her gaze moving between them with thinly veiled curiosity. Melissa flinched slightly at the sudden interruption, the reaction quick and instinctive.
“Nice job on the appendectomy,” Frank said, shifting the tone of the moment. “You made the right call checking first.”
Santos let out a small, knowing laugh. Frank left the room before she could say anything else.
On Friday, Frank Langdon went to work with another kind of stolen object in his bag: one of Abby’s eyeliners. He felt ridiculous and tense, like he was carrying a grenade. It eased him to know that Abby had so much makeup she would hardly miss that one. What really made him nervous was that his steady doctor’s hand might not help much when it came to doing something he had never done before: putting on makeup.
Frank had stalked OT’s profile to see what the people who frequented the place usually wore. He knew very well that if he showed up dressed too differently from everyone else, no dealer would talk to him. They would think he was a cop. So Frank looked at around twenty profiles of men and women (and some people he couldn’t quite tell) and realized he was very out of date. He decided to pack a sleeveless black T-shirt and a pair of black jeans that hung loosely on his body after so many washes. The pants would naturally sag and might give him a cooler look. He also noticed that almost everyone wore some sort of makeup there. If he showed up barefaced, he would draw too much attention.
That’s why, all through Friday, he furtively watched a few videos on how to do eyeliner.
During the day, he also noticed that Melissa was in a slightly better mood than the day before and choose to believe his revelation was the reason. She seemed more animated, even laughing at some of Santos’s awful jokes when she understood them. It wasn’t enough, apparently, to convince her to go with Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi to a happy hour they were planning. Frank overheard Santos telling Javadi that she would stop inviting Melissa if she wasn’t worried about her, since Melissa never seemed interested in mixing with them. Frank had to press his lips together to keep from telling her to mind her own business, partly because he also felt bad about not seeing Melissa go out with colleagues. He had hoped her improved mood would encourage her to go out. Still, she didn’t seem interested.
At quitting time, he even tried to find her just to check if she was okay, but didn’t see her. He left wishing everyone a good Saturday, since he would only be back on Sunday, and drove to the Princess neighborhood, following the address he had on OT’s Instagram.
The drive was uneventful, but his mind remained active, moving through possibilities, rehearsing interactions that might never happen. He parked a block away and changed clothes. The boots he wore to work didn’t look that different from what people wore at the club. When he finished, he moved on to the hardest part and picked up the eyeliner. On the first attempt, it became clear that it would be a disaster. He made a few crooked lines above and below his eyes and smudged them with his fingertips. It looked horrible, but it seemed intentional, an aesthetic choice. He also grabbed a pair of sunglasses and put them on his head after messing up his hair.
He got out of the car, locked it, and walked to the club. It was almost midnight. While waiting in line to get in, he sent Abby a message saying he was busy with some patients and would arrive later. She replied with an OK emoji.
When it was his turn in line, Frank reached for his ID, but the bouncer said it wasn’t necessary and only gave him a very superficial pat-down. It bruised his ego a bit to see that practically everyone else was showing their IDs. That meant that, even trying to look stylish, he still seemed older than the others.
He hoped that wouldn’t make him stand out too much.
When he finally entered the club, he needed a moment to understand where he was. Sound hit him first. Loud, constant, immersive, the bass reverberating through the floor. The music really was loud, and the lights flashed in a way that made everyone seem to move in slow motion, with brief flashes illuminating faces and movements before dissolving them again into shadow. The space was large with a stage at the back and a bar along one side. Lights and speakers hung from pillars scattered here and there.
He made his way to the bar and grabbed a beer, more out of habit than intention, and began to observe. The crowd moved with a cohesion he could not immediately decipher. He felt vaguely ridiculous when he realized he couldn’t identify a dealer there. Everyone was so at ease and dressed in a similar style that Frank didn’t even know whom to look at. He spent nearly an entire hour walking between the bar and the dance floor, looking around, but no one seemed to be selling anything.
Frustration began to build. The earlier dose he had taken during the day was wearing off, and he could feel the shift in his body with increasing clarity.
Frank went back to the bar to get another beer and saw someone dropping a pill into a bottle of water they had bought. Water, not alcohol, seemed to be the common choice. Bottles passed between hands, colors shifting in subtle variations depending on what had been added. The distribution was happening. He just needed to figure it out.
He abandoned the idea of another beer and ordered water instead. He followed the person he had seen putting a pill into the bottle, careful not to appear too deliberate in his movements. It was a guy of about twenty, with bleached hair and a mesh shirt that covered very little. Frank approached the group dancing with him, trying to imitate some simpler moves, something casual. He mirrored small gestures, adjusted his pace to match the rhythm around him, letting himself be absorbed just enough to avoid standing out.
The man smiled, easy and unguarded, and Frank felt a flicker of something unexpected, almost disorienting in its simplicity. He moved closer. They danced for a while without speaking, bodies aligning with the beat. Frank let the movement guide him, reduce the interaction to something purely physical and immediate, something that required no thought.
When the track shifted and the brief lull between songs created a pocket of relative quiet, he leaned in just enough to be heard.
“I was looking for the other one,” he said, nodding toward the bottle in the man’s hand, the liquid inside tinged with color. “But I’ve only found the purple so far.”
The man tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“First time here?” he asked, friendly. He reminded him of Whitaker.
“No,” Frank replied without hesitation. “I’ve been before. Just brought my own stuff. Tonight I thought I’d find something here, but everyone seems to be hiding from me.”
The man’s smile widened, amused.
“You a cop?” he asked lightly. “You know you have to tell me if you are.”
Frank allowed himself a small smile in return.
“I know. And I’m not. I just want to have a good time.”
“You sound like one.”
Shit.
“No. Just an old dude” he said. The guy checked him out again.
He wasn’t ugly, and Frank hadn’t been getting attention from Abby in a long time; he figured it wouldn’t be so bad if he got a blowjob in exchange for a bit of friendliness. The thought saddened him a little. He had never thought about cheating on Abby so casually. The desperation for benzos was really turning him into someone else.
The man stepped closer, closing the distance between them until his voice could drop lower without being lost in the music.
“Will you come back here if I tell?”
Frank hesitated for the briefest moment, the implication settling in before he could fully process it.
“Sure.”
The man leaned in further, his lips brushing lightly against Frank’s ear as he spoke.
“Look for the ones with crystal tears.”
Crystal tears? What damn code was that? He went back to walking around the dance floor looking for something that sparkled, but nothing caught his attention. He started to feel irritated as the effect of the last dose of stolen benzos he had taken during the day wore off. He could feel it: The agitation. The way his thoughts began to scatter, pulling in multiple directions at once without settling. The environment, which had felt merely overwhelming before, now pressed in more aggressively, the lights harsher, the sound more intrusive. The urge to piss took him to the bathroom.
Inside, he noticed that there were no separate men’s and women’s restrooms. Everyone waited together in a line in front of several stalls, while others talked and took pictures in front of the long mirror near the sinks. A phone flash lit up the face of a girl with short hair and bangs, and Frank saw tears shining on her face. He moved closer and looked more carefully. The tears stood out in relief on her skin and sparkled. They sat along her cheekbones in raised, glimmering lines, catching the light in a way that made them look almost crystalline. Pretty piece of makeup.
She looked at Frank and smiled. A boy approached her and shook a bottle of water. She called him to the line for the stalls, and the two started talking. Frank waited for a few more people to join the line and then got in as well so he wouldn’t look like a lunatic. The two went in, stayed only a short time, and came out. Not long enough to have sex, nor to pee. Frank looked at the girl as she came out and shook his water bottle. That caught her attention, and she stopped beside him in line.
“I’ve never seen you around here,” she said.
“Really?” he lied. “I come all the time.”
She laughed and bit her lip. Everyone there seemed horny. Effects of the drugs, Frank figured. Especially Bliss, with the MDMA.
It was their turn, and the two went into a stall.
“Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“Ok. Green or purple?” she asked.
“Green,” he replied.
“Purple sells more here. Green’s cheaper tonight.” she laughed, pulling a Ziploc bag out of her bra. “Fifty-five each. Fifty if you take more than one.”
“Four,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Damn.”
“For me and some friends,” he added, the lie automatic. By his calculations, he could take one per day. On Monday, the Instagram page had already announced another party, and he could come back if he moved his Wednesday day off to Tuesday. Or even without that, since the stop would be quick.
The girl handed him the four pills, and he gave her two hundred dollars. In cash. She smiled.
“Most people use Venmo,” she said, studying him with curiosity.
“I like to make things easier,” he replied.
“Yeah. Name’s Sarah,” she said. “If you need more, find me. Or message me. thesarahcandy.”
“Good to know,” he replied. “I’m King.”
The choice of name almost made him laugh.
“See ya, King.”
The effect came fast. The world sharpened. Focus snapped into place with unnatural clarity, every detail etched in precise, almost surgical definition. His thoughts aligned, ordered, smoothed out. Relief spread through him, slow and dangerous. He could function like this.
They stepped out of the stall and back into the noise. Frank took a long drink from his bottle, washing down the lingering bitterness, already preparing to leave, but as soon as he reached the dance floor, he saw the bleached-haired guy again. The guy approached him, dancing, pressing his body against his. Frank decided to stay a bit. He didn’t want someone who frequented the place to get a bad impression of him.
The man placed his hands on Frank’s shoulders, guiding the movement slightly, then let them slide down. Frank allowed it. Detached. Observing himself as much as participating. The music was intoxicating, with a slightly dirty but interesting beat. Frank put on his sunglasses so the guy wouldn’t see his complete lack of interest. After a while, the man squeezed his butt.
Oh, shit. The music shifted, deepened, something heavier settling into the rhythm, and the man moved closer, pressing in, his breath warm against Frank’s skin. Then the kiss came.
Frank registered the difference immediately, the unfamiliarity of it, the altered angle, the texture, the sensation of it spreading outward in ways he had not anticipated. There was a moment where his body responded before his thoughts could catch up, a brief, disorienting alignment between stimulus and reaction.
He knew he would end up in the bathroom soon. He had never done anything with other men beyond some teasing with friends in the college locker room, but this was different. Or maybe he had been alone for so long, even while married, that he was curious. The sensitivity in his lips spread through his legs when the guy squeezed his butt again, but the hand disappeared when the music stopped and some people shouted and applauded. The next DJ started playing immediately, and the guy let him go.
“Sorry,” he said, already turning. “Don’t want to miss this set. You coming?”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Frank replied.
The man disappeared into the crowd.
Frank did not follow. His body was responding in a somewhat unexpected way, but he wasn’t aroused enough to keep going. In a flash of common sense, he decided that it wouldn’t be right to use someone who had helped him just for sex when he would probably be thinking of someone else. Frank needed to leave. He finished the water and went back to the bathroom with a full bladder before leaving. As he came out, already searching his pocket for his car keys, he saw the guy who had kissed him making out with someone else near the stage. Well, at least he wouldn’t end the night frustrated by his disappearance. Happy ending for everyone.
He pushed through the crowd, moving with a confidence that had not been there when he entered. Bodies shifted around him without resistance, the path opening almost naturally as he made his way toward the exit. And then he saw it.
A flash of blonde hair.
It cut through the dim light. His heart reacted before his mind could intervene, a sudden, forceful jolt that disrupted the steady rhythm the drug had just established. He stopped, turning instinctively, searching for it and saw the mass of blonde hair being shaken back and forth near a pillar.
The blonde woman moved with somewhat stiff shoulders, but it wasn’t her. The posture was wrong. The energy was wrong. There was none of that restrained tension he had come to recognize in Melissa, none of the quiet hesitation that seemed to follow her even when she smiled. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he wouldn’t find the frightened and withdrawn Melissa King there.
For a moment, he remained where he was, watching, like some part of him still needed confirmation, still needed to exhaust the possibility completely before letting it go. Then he turned away. His mind was so focused on her that he was starting to hallucinate.
He walked to the car with a steady, measured pace, the residual rhythm of the music still present in his mind, replaying in fragments that no longer felt overwhelming. Everything seemed more defined now, more immediate. The distance between sensation and perception had narrowed, collapsing into something almost seamless. He could feel his body with unusual clarity, the precise coordination of movement, the absence of hesitation in even the smallest actions.
It wasn’t bad, actually, but he understood Princess’s irritation when even upon reaching his car on the next block he still felt like he were hearing something.
Driving felt effortless. His attention remained fixed, unwavering, moving effortlessly from one detail to the next . Blitz really was good stuff.
When he arrived home, the house was quiet. He moved through it carefully, avoiding unnecessary noise as he made his way upstairs. The sunglasses came off first, then the remnants of the makeup, washed away with a thoroughness that bordered on compulsion.
In the bedroom, he found Abby asleep. His body, still awakened by the touches at the club, wished she wouldn’t reject him that night. He slipped under the covers and moved closer. He placed an arm around her, tentative at first, then firmer.
Abby pushed him away and covered herself even more. Frank remained still, staring into the darkness.
Frank felt empty. The erection that had begun to form faded. It was hard to want to continue in the face of such palpable indifference from that woman. He knew he wasn’t a good husband and maybe not even a good person, but he wasn’t the type to get turned on when a woman didn’t want him.
He thought about the pills stored in his wallet. At least that was settled. As frustrating as everything else was, it was a regular kind of frustration. His biggest problem had been solved. At least until Monday.