Wasted by Nicola Morgan

around her back, tightening. It is the rope, she thinks, at first. Until she hears its hiss, holds her breath, clamps her mouth shut. The snake weaves around her back. It is cold and oddly dry. It is on the bare flesh beneath her armpit, and on the back of her neck. Her skin creeps with it. She wants to scream and perhaps she does. Needs to run but can’t. Jess tells herself she’s having a nightmare, tries to shout herself awake, jerk reality back. In her head thoughts rush and tangle, coloured worms swirl through the black night and stab her behind the eyes. She doesn’t know where the floor is, which way up she is. How to speak.
    Her legs give way and her feet stop working. But she does not fall. She is being carried, dragged, by someone she cannot see. The hunter has found her. And now Jess knows nothing. She is not with us. She is nowhere. Her mind has gone to a place of such darkness and horror that we cannot follow, for our own good. It is best not even to imagine it. For Jess herself will forget.
    Jack is half dragging Jess out of the club. How did she get so drunk so fast, he is wondering? Did she have more than he’d realized? Was the drink stronger than he’d thought? He has had more than normal himself, but he’s fine, in control. He feels responsible – he’s brought her to this club. One moment they’d been dancing and then suddenly she had stumbled in his arms and her eyes had gone glassy. She didn’t seem to hear what he was saying. When people had started giving her weird looks, he’d decided to get her out of there, and here they are, outside. “Taking her home,” he mouths to Chris and Ella as they leave. Ella looks concerned. He shakes his head, smiles. “It’s OK,” he says. He doesn’t know if it is OK, but it will have to be. It must be. Maybe she’s tired, or hasn’t eaten anything, or maybe she’s on some kind of medication. Whatever, he wants to get her home, let her mum take over.
    He walks Jess past the bouncer. She is limp, his arm around her waist holding her up, her feet barely touching the ground. Her head lolls forward, thick hair dishevelled. He feels the shape of her, the lightness of her body, but he will not think of that.
    The bouncer rolls his eyes. “There goes another one. You need any help with her, mate?”
    â€œNo, thanks. She’ll be fine.”
    â€œYeah, well. Anyway, don’t try anything on – remember, I’ve seen your face.”
    Jack stares back at him. Says nothing. Turns away. Something in him wants to speak out but it does not.
    There is Kelly Jones, with Samantha and Charlie. Of course. They are laughing. Why are they there? At that moment? Where did they come from? And what is behind their laughter? These are questions Jack doesn’t ask himself, not at this time, though he may later if he remembers to. He
should
ask these questions but he has other concerns.
    Kelly weaves her drunken way towards him. “You know what, Jack?” He says nothing but she continues anyway. Her voice is full of spite and vodka. It is slurry and thick. “Your girlfriend should learn to sort her own life out before she accuses someone else of being a drunk.” The others laugh again.
    â€œShe looks pretty sorted to me!” says Charlie.
    â€œHave a good night, Jack!” calls Samantha.
    Jess moans. Leans forward, retches. Jack moves her forcibly round the corner, away from Kelly and the others, away from the bouncer and from a police car sitting near by. She throws up in the gutter and moans again.
    She is vaguely back with us now, and probably wishes she wasn’t. She fumbles for a tissue from her bag and wipes her mouth.
    â€œI’m taking you home, Jess.”
    â€œDon’t feel well.”
    â€œI know. You’ve had too much to drink.”
    â€œWolves. And dragons. I saw them.” They’re still there in the shadows, she sees. She