“And?” I asked and slumped back again. She shrugged. “Close your eyes.” I did. I leaned back my head and laid it on the high backrest, wondering what she was up to. We often played closed-eyed games. One of the effects of the pills was that heightened sensibility for touch, and we’d spent hours just running our fingers up and down each other’s arms and cheeks, shuddering in delightful intensity or watching the other do the same, all innocent yet intimate. Today’s stuff was a little different, something I had noticed from the start. Normal pills hyped me up all the way, leaving me unable to keep my feet still, but now felt like floating peacefully an inch above the couch. Then I gasped. Mona’s fingers touched the inside of my thigh and ever so slowly crept higher, and god, it felt delicious! “How many fingers?” she asked. “Four?” I guessed. “Five?” We used to play this game a lot when we were chilling after long, intense nights out, but only on bare arms. Now, though, it was a lot. I concentrated on what was familiar as I tried to get my bearings and overcome the vertigo of strangeness that threatened to overwhelm me. In the center sat an oval shaped bed, large enough that I could only assume that, at one time, she had shared it with another. Or perhaps more. Surveying the walls, my breath caught at the sight of dozens of books carefully shelved. It had been so long since I’d had the opportunity to read that I wondered if, perhaps, it was a skill I’d have to relearn. An aquarium against one wall, and a terrarium beside it, although the creatures within were exotic and strange. I could only surmise that they were not denizens of the island that I had become to think of as home.A wardrobe, fashioned from a dark red wood stood near the bed, as well as a small desk with a single chair upholstered with fabric the color of a summer’s sky. A collection of items what appeared to be tools or, perhaps, strangely fashioned utensils, lay haphazardly upon the desks.
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