I stared at Liam, my mind scrambling to bridge the gap between Caleb’s rejection and the interrogation now standing in my path. The fluorescent lights of the hallway felt like needles in my eyes, and the air seemed to hum with a static charge I couldn't shake.
"I'm not drunk, Liam," I whispered, my voice sounding thin and metallic even to me. I tried to pull my shoulders back, but I just felt like a marionette with frayed strings.
"Don't lie to me," he snapped, taking a step closer. His eyes were sharp, devoid of the haze that currently blurred the edges of my world. "I’ve seen you drink. This isn't that. You’re swaying like a reed, and your eyes look like they belong to someone else. What did he give you?"
"It’s just... the medication," I said, the lie tasting like ash. "For the wrist.
