Free Sweet Deception by Tara Bond

weight. I stumbled a little, and Lindsay caught me. I decided to lean against the cool wall for support. “Am fine.” My words sounded slurred, even to my own ears. “Just give . . . a minute.”
    Lindsay was peering at me with a worried expression. “You really don’t seem fine.”
    â€œBeen like this ’fore.”
    â€œThis is different.” She peered at me. “You look really sick, Charlie. I seriously think we need to get out of here.”
    I tried to open my eyes to glare at her, but it was too much effort. “When did you stop being fun?” I said instead.
    â€œThere’s being fun and then there’s being an idiot.” I tried to walk past her, but Lindsay moved in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    â€œBrett.” I’d wanted to say a whole sentence, but I could only manage that one word.
    â€œOh, no, you’re not.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not letting you out of here with him.”
    â€œAnd what you gonna do ’bout it?” I said. Or at least that’s what I tried to say. Unfortunately my brain didn’t seem to quite manage to co-ordinate with my mouth, so it came out as a jumble of sounds that weren’t quite words.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Lindsay squinted at me. “Jesus, Charlie. How much did you drink?”
    I grinned at her. She was making such a big deal about nothing. “I’m fine,” I started to say. But somewhere along the way the room had started swimming. I had no idea what was going on, but something didn’t feel quite right.
    I swayed a little on my feet. For some reason, I couldn’t manage to focus. I stumbled backwards a little, and banged against the wall. I just about had time to make out the distressed look on Lindsay’s face, and then I sank to the ground.

Chapter 5
    The first thing I was aware of when I woke up was what felt like the mother of all sore throats, stretching all the way down my oesophagus to the throbbing pain in my stomach.
    My eyes cracked open, and I saw immediately that I was in a hospital bed, in what looked like a private ward. An IV was feeding fluids into my arm. Vague images flitted through my mind from the night before—the flashing red siren as I was rushed to hospital; the agony of a tube being forced down my throat; the constant pain and indignity of vomiting . . .
    My eyes swept the room. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but there was Richard, sprawled out in the easy chair in the corner. I groaned to myself. The last thing I needed was him and my family getting involved. They’d never let me hear the end of it about last night.
    I tried to sit up in bed, attempting to be as quiet aspossible, so as not to disturb him. But the movement must have somehow dislodged my IV, because an alarm sounded. Richard’s eyes flew open.
    â€œYou’re awake.” He didn’t appear at all disoriented. Instead he was up and out of his chair straight away, long limbs stretching, as he came over to stand by my bed. The expression on his face was one of concern rather than disapproval. “How’re you feeling? Is there anything you need?”
    I wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but I sensed he’d been here all night. His jeans and jumper looked crumpled, and his usually clean-shaven face was darkened by a five o’clock shadow. It was almost enough to make me forget about my predicament—it was the first time in years that I’d seen him looking anything less than perfect.
    â€œAm okay,” I managed. My voice was little more than a croak. My throat felt sore and scratchy, and it hurt to talk.
    â€œYou might want to give your voice a rest for a bit.” He gave a wry smile. “I hear having your stomach pumped is a bitch.”
    I frowned, taking in what he’d just said. “Thought they’d stopped that.”
    â€œWhat?” He