I could blame movin’ around a lot and the lack of good friends, but I never really fit in anyway except for a couple solid friends, so who’s to say stickin’ in one place would have made a difference? I’ve always had a good family, with no lack of love and support, so that’s definitely not it.
The shit that went down at college could play a factor, but it feels kinda wrong claimin’ too much of that hardship for me, not when my roomie, Mackenzie, is the one who truly has to carry the scars and trauma around for the rest of her life. Besides, that was a long time ago.
I reach out for my new stick acquisition and spin it slowly where it’s perched against the bar, studyin’ the details. I run my finger over one of the many metal bands evenly distributed down the staff and wonder what the hell it is.
Strangely, the metal still feels warm against my touch. It must’ve been out in the swelterin’ heat for a while if it’s takin’ this long to cool off.
I finish my drink in two more gulps and push it to the inner lip of the bar top so the lanky bartender can see I’m ready for round two. Only, instead of the sallow lanky man that was mixin’ drinks before and wipin’ things down, there’s a Groot-lookin’ fella in his place. I blink slowly as though my lids are wipers that will somehow clear the vision before me from my eyes, but it doesn’t work.
If Groot had a shorter, stockier, older relative, it’d be this walkin’ tree stump. His skin-bark is gray, and he’s thick, with dark brown eyes and red leaves branchin’ out from the sides of his fingers. I shake my head, tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on, but my cage gets even more rattled when I look over and see that the judgmental couple that’s been watchin’ me look like they’re somethin’ straight out of Area 51.
What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on?
Do I have heatstroke? I put my palm to my head as though I’ll be able to answer that question with one quick check, but I don’t feel hot. A smidgen clammy and definitely shaky, but I blame seein’ Groot’s fatter uncle and a pair of aliens for the last part.
I rub at my eyes, but the freaky images don’t go away. My breathin’ picks up and adrenaline goes rocketin’ through me as panic starts to take a firm hold on me, and denial fights it for control. My wide-eyed confused gaze lands on the empty cup in front of me, pieces of mint leaves now stuck to the ice, and a lightbulb goes off in my head.
I turn a glare to the walkin’ tree trunk and stumble off the bar stool I was just perched on.
“You drugged me!” I accuse, shocked and enraged.
Fear’s probably gonna kick in here real soon, and I should hurry and get the hell outta Dodge before the paralyzin’ effects can kick in. Whatever this bark asshat just slipped me, I need to leave before it can taint more of my blood and good sense.
“Excuse me?” the barky bartender demands, as though he has some right to be offended. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
I back away from him and blindly stumble right into a table. I wince as it does its best to cause some kind of internal damage to my kidney.
“You sure as hell did,” I snap back to the bartender, wavin’ at the state of him like it’s proof.
I look over to the table of older patrons and immediately regret it. They look like somethin’ that just traipsed out of the bowels of Hell. Their skin is black as pitch and shiny as though they’re made of glass, and their faces are just...gone. They’re shiny glass faceless beings now.
“We didn’t traipse,” one of them informs me, humor in his voice, but I can’t for the life of me say which one spoke, because they have no mouths, and I didn’t see anyone actually say anythin’.
“Oh Lord, what’s happenin’ to me?” I demand, hysteria forcin’ my tone into dog-whistle range, panic floodin’ in.
I scream when somethin’ hard hits my palm. I jump back and look down to see the stick that was leanin’ against the bar is now firmly in my hand. Was I holdin’ onto it the whole time? No, I definitely wasn’t. Which means it just…
Just what, Medley? I ask myself as my rational, logical side tries to help me wade through the manic delirium.
Walked its stick ass over and high fived you? It’s a stick, for the love of peaches; you need to calm down and think!
My free hand comes up to rub over the stones on my necklace as I try to compose myself. Of course, that’s when two more not people come barrelin’ into the bar from the doorway that I know leads into the back office. One of them is familiar, which for some reason helps me not completely lose my senses. He looks like the guy from the back office who signed for the late package and helped me clean up my foot.
What was his name?
Alder, that was it.
Except, his yellow hair is way less blond and way more daffodil-toned, and while the tattoos on his arms and neck are still gorgeous, they’re no longer black and gray. I stare at the myriad of watercolor blossoms now tattooed all over him, while also notin’ that his skin sure as hell wasn’t lavender the last time I talked to him either. He also didn’t have a pretty flower tucked behind his ear like it’s the new favorite accessory of big muscly swamp-dwellin’ guys.
His butterscotch eyes scan everyone in the room quickly before settlin’ on me, confused. “What’s going on?” he asks, but I can tell the question ain’t aimed at me.
“She just started screaming for no
