Unhinged [Rafe Cameron]

[the bell tower pt. 2]

(tw: scenes with drugs and fire.)

It's dark out.

The night creeps up on us, casting shadows on the van like a scene in a horror movie. If only it were one. It would be a hell of a lot better than this shitshow.

JJ inhales smoke from a joint and slowly releases it from his lungs as he passes it to me. I take it and twirl it between my fingers.

I know this is a pretty dumb thing to do. For the whole group, really. None of us will be able to function properly if we're high as a rocket.

But last I remembered, dumb things are kind of our jam. So be it.

I bring the joint up to my lips and take a deep draw from it, letting the sharp smoke fill my mouth and lungs with a satisfying fullness. The musky scent lingers in my nose, and as I exhale I can already feel my eyelids drooping in a blissful high.

I don't get high that often. Mostly because the thought of doing drugs reminds me of my father, and envisioning myself going down that path... I'd rather not think about it.

Kie shuffles around, very obviously anxious about something. I take a longer, deeper, hit and close my eyes as the smoke infiltrates all my senses and pulls me deeper into a relaxed state.

"Are you guys done yet?" Kie finally huffs. She's the only one who isn't participating, and clearly the wait is getting to her.

The van is parked outside the Cameron house, cleverly concealed behind a tall willow tree. The plan was to go in and warn Sarah about John B's predicament (aka him being a fugitive), but Pope had insisted that we all needed to "loosen up" a bit before sneaking in.

I sit up, my movements feeling sluggish. "We are."

"Let's go then. Stop messing around." She pops open the door and hops out into the cold of the night.

Pope also exits from the drivers side. I hand the joint back to JJ.

"Stay as lookout?" I ask, and he nods distractedly. He's very clearly in his own world right now, high beyond measure.

I swing open the van door as quietly as my weakened arms will let me, and drag myself out.

As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I realize that smoking was definitely a bad idea. My legs have become two blocks of jelly and I can't find balance from the way my knees are buckling under me. 

But instead of turning around and getting back into the van like any rational, sober human being would do, I starting dragging my feet in a wobbly attempt at walking. My only focus is to heave one foot in front of the other, although it's proving to be difficult as each of my limbs feel like they're being weighed down by bricks. 

My arms jut out in an attempt to find stability, which only works for a couple yards before my foot catches on a dip in the grass and my world is thrown off-kilter.

The next few moments happen as if they're in slow mo. I feel myself lose balance and tumble forward as my arms fling in front of me. Before I can accept my fate, I feel strong arms snake beneath my stomach and heave me back upright, giving me what I can only assume is whiplash. 

My heart stutters at the sudden movement and I can barely see through the haze of my high to make sense of what's happening. Before I can say anything or even make a single noise, the arms that saved me whisk me off the ground and I feel myself get carried like a limp rag doll across the lawn. 

And though I'm not entirely sober, I can still sense when I'm in danger. So with my best ability, I tear myself from the grasp of this stranger and stagger onto the ground.