I lie on the floor of the toilet.
It is comfy and cosy down here, and I am nice and warm. It is best when I shut my eyes – things go all snuggly.
I can hear the LTLP. She is on the telephone.
“…had some effect on him… painkillers… took the ones that I had for my broken leg…”
It is nice that she has telephoned somebody. I would imagine that it is an expert. I pull the blanket further around me. It is lovely. They should make mattresses out of wood laminate.
“…coming over? Oh that’s brilliant.”
This is excellent – an expert is coming over. They can have a sleep with me here on the floor if they would like. I sort of doze off.
What might be 30 seconds later, I am awoken by a blurry shape looming above me. The shape seems to be expertly studying me, whilst resolving into humanoid form. It is beautiful, with fresh unblemished skin, flowing locks of red and a voice like 10,000 angels descending on gossamer wings from a golden heaven crossed with Meatloaf. It resolves some more into Short Tony.
It is not an expert after all!!! I try to protest, but although I appear to be aware of everything that’s going on, I can’t seem to do anything except lie on the floor with my eyes shut. It is very unnerving. I hear their voices discussing me in the kitchen, low and urgent. Suddenly the floor seems less comforting.
The LTLP has given me rohypnol!!! They have given me rohypnol and are planning to perform a lewd act on me!!!
“Let’s get him onto the couch,” says Short Tony, and I feel my blanket being pulled.
“No, no,” I manage to murmur, in increasing alarm.
“You can’t stay there,” orders the LTLP’s voice. “We need to get you onto the couch.”
They are planning on putting me onto the couch!!! My hands reach round the floor to grip it tightly, which doesn’t work, as it is a floor.
I feel some arms. “No!!!” I hear myself saying, although it is like hearing somebody else speaking, although it is definitely me, or at least somebody who sounds very much like me and who has the same sort of idea of what to say as I do.
“I’ll take myself,” the voice that is possibly me continues.
I try to stand up to walk to the living room. Standing up is more difficult than I remember.
“I think I’ll crawl actually,” the me-voice explains.
I crawl slowly to the living room, across the brick tiles, step by step. I can feel Short Tony and the LTLP watching me. But I do not want to be carried and lose my dignity. The next thing I know I am lying on the sofa under a blanket.
“…these sort of pills before…?” I hear more conversation from the kitchen.
It does not seem interesting, and I drift off to sleep.