It would take longer to set in, Brett thought after tucking the tablet under his tongue. At the hospital, there'd been the IV, after all. He felt reckless, taking the ketamine at his apartment with no supervisory staff. It was just him and Lauren, sitting on the couch that had been mauled by his dog for years. He wondered if Lauren thought it was gross, but she didn't seem too concerned or judgmental about anything, really. Just interested in losing herself in that k-hole.

"What do we do now?" he asked, feeling the little oval dissolve.

Lauren shrugged. "I'd suggest some TV, but..." She gestured to where his TV used to be, and he cursed himself for getting rid of it. He'd had some fantasies about all the things he'd accomplish once he was free of that idiot box, but none of them had come to fruition. He hadn't learned to play an instrument or written the next horrible American novel or made any bosom new buddies or learned to cook the comfort foods he'd grown up with or planted a garden. What was the point of quitting television, after all? He took a deep breath. It wouldn't be good to go into his trip all stressed out.

"Why don't you fill me in," he said, managing a smile. "You know, what you've been up to since you've been out." Jesus, it sounded like they were fresh out of the slammer. Actually it sort of felt like that. People went to jail for making bad choices, people got put in the psych ward for the same thing. And what was the end goal? Rehabilitation of the heart, of the mind? Too often he got the two mixed up. Maybe that was his problem.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Trying to fill the void. Thanks for cooperating, by the way."

"No problem." At least, he hoped it wasn't going to be. 

Lauren spent the next twenty minutes talking about her family and how they wouldn't let her be since she got home from the hospital. Her mom popped into her bedroom every five minutes to make sure she wasn't spurting blood all over the place or foaming at the mouth. Brett felt a little jealous that he didn't have a family to fawn all over him after his so-called suicide attempt, but voicing that sentiment felt like sour grapes and there was nothing to be done about it so--

That was when the air started to get wavy. It felt like the top of his head was spinning like a top, trying to fling itself across the room. He put his hand in front of his face, and it was slightly transparent. He could see the opposite side of the room right through it.

"What's happening?" Lauren asked excitedly. "Is it starting?"

"I think so," Brett replied, turning his hand over and looking at his palm. The lines, the ones that palm readers claimed to be able to interpret, were swimming over one another. His fate shifting right before his eyes. 

He looked over at Lauren, whose hair seemed to be floating away from her face like she'd rubbed her head on a pillow, gathered too much static electricity. He reached across the space between them and touched her temple with a single finger to see if it would spark. 

Nothing.

Lauren returned the gesture, laughing. "What are you doing, doofus?" She pulled her hand away quickly. "Ouch."

"Was there a spark?" Brett asked. 

"No. It's... You're so cold. It feels like... freezerburn."

Now that she'd mentioned it, Brett did feel cold. The skin on his neck had started to perk up, and he felt goosebumps on his arms and his ankles where his jeans didn't quite meet his socks. He wanted to get up and check the thermostat, but he thought about how they made him lie down when he did this in the hospital, so he wouldn't hurt himself. He carefully lowered himself onto the floor and spread out his limbs to keep himself safe. The floor was even colder, and he started shivering. The dust passing between the light and his eyes seemed to glimmer, and he thought it looked like snow drifting down to settle on him. He worried that he'd be buried by it. 

"Brett? Are you okay?" Lauren's voice sounded far away, like she was on a mountain miles away, and it echoed slightly. 

"I think so. Are you?" He turned his head slightly to look at her and saw that she had stretched out on the rest of the couch, resting her ankles on the armrest. 

"I feel lightheaded. Like I'm floating." 

And he thought she was. 

Floating away from him, while he was being buried alive. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. The trip should have brought them closer together, not pulled them apart. But he couldn't think about that because it was getting so much colder down where he was. His mind went to movies where people passed out in the snow, lost limbs to frostbite, even died. He had to find a blanket or get to his feet to turn up the heat. 

He heard a knocking somewhere, but it didn't matter because he was dying, dying.

The sound of a door opening, Lauren laughing. 

Someone saying, "What are you guys doing? I'm intruding obviously." A girl's voice. He didn't know who. He wondered if she could call the ambulance, if there was time to save him. 

Lauren just laughed.

"Well, I'll just leave this for him. Are you sure... he's okay?"

"Oh, trust me, he's more than okay," Lauren replied.

And then the door closed again, and Brett was afraid the door was closing on his life, that this was the end. He never should have done this. He shouldn't have been so polite.

The light became dim, and then he was gone.