Whumptober #21: Laced Drink
This… isn’t right. M’not drunk, I haven’t even had three shots, Marvin realized sluggishly as he tipped his glass in a weak, clumsy hand, examining what little was left its contents. Like melting Jell-O a vague list of symptoms seeped in from the corners of his mind, symptoms he’d seen in far too many of his patients.
Get out. Call…Jan. Hen. Someone. Scream…Was he moving already? It felt as if his whole body was floating away, leaving nothing to support his numb, heavy head…except that hand petting the back of his neck. When had that gotten there? Eyes fluttering, he shuddered, trying to shrug it off. “Nnh…no…”
“Hey, now, handsome,” the owner of the hand purred. “I’m just trying to do you a favor. Don’t fight it.”