You don’t even remember getting out of the car. One second your friend was smiling, waving goodbye with the engine still humming, and the next, the front door to your apartment was swinging open as you stood there—barely steady on your feet.

The world feels strange. Off. Like it’s tilted just slightly to the left.

Your heart is racing. Everything’s too loud, but also muffled at the same time. You can’t tell if the party ended an hour ago or five minutes ago.

You lean heavily against the hallway wall. Your keys drop. Your purse slips down your arm. You can’t remember how much you had to drink.

The door swings fully open before you can reach for it again.

Drew.

He’s in sweats and a plain T-shirt, barefoot, tousled hair like he’d been dozing on the couch. But now he’s wide awake, eyes sharpening the second he sees your face.

“Hey…” His voice drops, instantly worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know,” you mumble, stumbling a bit as you try to step in.

Drew catches you by the elbows. His grip is firm but careful.

“Babe? You’re shaking.” His voice is gentle but urgent. “Did something happen? You look—Jesus, your pupils…”

“I didn’t take anything,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I swear. I didn’t. I only had one drink. One.”

That’s when the panic hits. You clutch at his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring you. “Drew, something’s wrong.”

“I’ve got you,” he says immediately, pulling you into the apartment and locking the door behind you. “It’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

He helps you sit on the couch, crouching in front of you with both hands on your knees. His eyes scan your face, your hands, the slight tremble in your body.

“You feel like you’re gonna pass out?”

“No, but everything’s… slow. And weird. I can’t think. I didn’t take anything, Drew. I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” he says quickly. “I believe you, okay? Something must’ve been slipped in. That’s not your fault.”

You nod, lip quivering. “Why would someone do that?”

He swallows hard, visibly pushing down his own rising anger. “I don’t know, baby. But I’m gonna make sure you’re safe now. Just focus on me.”

He grabs water, a blanket, helps you out of your shoes. The way he looks at you is full of fierce care and quiet fury—not at you, but at whoever could’ve hurt you like this.

“I think we should go to the ER,” he finally says gently, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Just to be sure. I’ll stay with you every second, okay? I promise. We’ll figure this out.”