I’ve had my fair share of wild, crazy party nights. A few have ended with me blacking out. But, for the most part, I’ve tried not to drink to that extent. It’s too unsettling to wake up the next day and not be able to remember most of the details of the previous night. Waking up with that lost feeling and knowing there’s no way I could’ve drank that much is even worse.

Where am I? is the first thought I have as I wake up.

I lie still with my eyes shut, trying to remember what happened. My head throbs in response.

Where am I? How did I get here? What did I do during those lost hours?

When I force my eyelids open, the sunlight shining through my loft window instantly blinds me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I curl into a ball. My stomach burns. If I so much as move, I know I’m going to yack my guts out.

The only positive thing about the situation is that I’m at my place. How I made it back is beyond me. The last thing I remember is Zoe and I stumbling toward the club’s front doors where the rain and wind were thrashing against the buildings and streets …

Oh, God. The storm. The feeling of dread when Zoe told me she was going to go out alone.

Parts of last night crash back to me in sharp, painful fragments. Still, I can’t get my mind to see past what happened after we started to leave the club. Where did we go? Did we head straight home? Did she even come back with me?

I sift through my memories. Most of the details are blurry and out of grasp. My head pulsates and my stomach churns as realization settles in. Last night, I lost track of time. For hours, I have no clue what I was doing. What Zoe was doing. Whether she’s okay. Whether I’m okay.

Forcing down the urge to hurl, I roll onto my back and open my eyes. The sunlight stings my eyeballs again, but I keep them open and squint at the clock on my nightstand.

Almost five o’clock.

Five o’clock in the evening!

“Zoe,” I croak out. I clear my throat and try again. “Zoe, are you still sleeping?” My head throbs at the sound of my voice and at the silence of the loft.

Quiet. Everything is so quiet.

Summoning every ounce of strength I have, I sit up then cringe when I note I’m only wearing my bra and underwear. My stomach clenches as I scan the bedroom floor, my clothes nowhere to be seen. My jacket is on the floor, though, so I lean over the edge of the bed to get my phone out of the pocket. Relief washes over me when I see no missed calls. If no one from back home called me, then hopefully that means everyone is okay.

But it stormed last night. And not everyone might be okay. What if it took Zoe from me? What if she’s gone?

My chest aches as I hold my breath and listen, waiting to see if Zoe will make brief contact with me like most everyone else I’ve lost. I’ve never actually tried to communicate first, and don’t know if my little gift works that way.

When all I hear is silence and all I feel is nauseated, I trip to my feet and stumble across the hallway to Zoe’s bedroom.

It looks just like how it always does. The bed’s unmade; clothes, books, and sketches cover the hardwood floor; and the closet is in complete disarray—shoes, shirts, and dresses scattered everywhere. The only thing missing is Zoe.

That’s when I really start to freak out. Sure, Zoe has never been one for checking in all the time and there have been times when she’s just disappeared for days on end and didn’t tell anyone where she was. But considering the circumstances of last night, the blank spots in my mind, and how tired she looked in the club as we made our way outside …

Something isn’t right.

“Where is she?” Vomit burns my throat as I become hyperaware that I really have no clue.

Unable to hold down the puke any longer, I snatch up an empty trashcan by the bedroom door and vomit until my stomach is sore. Then I clumsily backtrack to my bed where I left the phone and send Zoe a text.

Me: Hey, where are you? I’m really worried. I can barely remember anything about last night. Can you?

Ten silent minutes tick by with no response.

I send her another text, debating whether I should call the police yet or not. I’m not sure at what point someone is considered missing and when to really start worrying.

Oh, my God, what if she really is missing?

The foul taste of puke fills my mouth again.

It was my job to keep an eye on her. And the storm … I knew something bad was going to happen.

An excruciating half hour passes with no word from her. I start to make excuses in an attempt to settle my worried thoughts. Maybe she lost her phone last night? Or maybe her battery died? I try to see past all the holes in my memory and recall her saying anything about losing her phone. All I get in return is a headache and another spout of vomiting. The longer the uncontrollable puking goes on, the more I question if someone drugged my drink last night. And if my drink was drugged, then Zoe’s could’ve been, too.

After I manage to get my stomach under control, I sink down on my bed and text Zoe again. The longer my phone remains quiet, the more my worry amplifies. I try calling a couple of our mutual friends to see if they’ve seen or heard from her, but none of them have.

“Your drinks were drugged, Jessa,” Nora says after I tell her as much as I can recall about last night. “I had it happen to me once before, and the memory loss and all the throwing up are some of the side effects.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m worried Zoe was, too.” I drape my arm across my stomach and shut my eyes. “What should I do? I know Zoe likes to take off without telling anyone, but with our drinks being possibly drugged … I’m worried something happened to her.”

“You could always call the police and report her missing if you’re really that worried about her.” She gives a lengthy pause. “But I’m not sure if you should be too worried just yet. She’s done shit like this before. And tracking her down is impossible. Trust me; I’ve tried to do it a ton of fucking times.”

That surprises me. “When?”

“While you were visiting your family last summer. She just took off one night when we were out at a club. She didn’t tell anyone where she was going and wouldn’t answer her damn phone. After about two days of total radio silence, I started to panic and called up every single person she knows. And you know what I learned? That I know absolutely nothing about Zoe, who her parents are, or who her friends are outside our circle. Even her boss down at the café knew zilch about her. I guess he pays her under the table or something. Hell, I don’t even know why she moved here in the first place or where she even moved from. One day, she just waltzed into my life and that was that.”

I chew on my thumbnail. “Where was she?”

“She took off with some guy who owned a jet. They flew to Vegas for the week. And her excuse for not answering her phone: because she was having too much fun. She didn’t care that I was worried sick and thought she was dead.”

“Is that why you guys stopped hanging out so much?”

“Yeah. Well, that and …” She hesitates. “Look, I know you love Zoe to death, but believe me when I say that Zoe only loves herself. I know she hasn’t done too much messed up stuff to you yet, but give her time.”

I understand why Nora would be upset with Zoe for taking off, but I don’t completely agree with her. While I don’t know a ton about Zoe’s past, she did tell me her parents passed away when she was younger and that she spent most of her teenage years growing up in foster homes. It made me feel closer to her that she knew what it felt like to lose someone you’re close to you, to have a piece of your heart taken away forever.

Like with Nora, Zoe did just randomly pop into my life. The day I first met her, I was sitting in the park, reading a book and trying to fight off feeling homesick. I had a challenging time when I first moved here and struggled making friends. I didn’t talk to too many people, especially people I didn’t know. So, I was thrown off when Zoe strolled up to me and started commenting about the older couple making out in front of the fountain.

“Don’t you think it’d be so cool to be old and still be in love like that?” She pointed across the park.

I glanced up from my book and over at the older couple engaged in a very steamy lip-lock session. It was too close to when I broke Milo’s heart, so I wasn’t in a lovey-dovey mood.

“I guess so.”

“I don’t think it’s for me. I can’t stay committed to one hair color for more than a month, let alone date the same guy for three or four decades.” She plopped down beside me, gathering her hair into a ponytail. It was red and orange at the time and reminded me of fire. “So, what do you think?”

My brows pulled together. “About what?”

She flicked a quick glance at me from the corner of her eye. “About being with the same person for decades.”

I shrugged, setting the book down in the grass beside me. “I don’t know. It sounds kind of nice, I guess. But I don’t want to be in a relationship right now or anything. I need to graduate first and have a steady job.”

“So, you’re a planner?” She seemed amused by this.

I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. I can be sporadic, too.” Truth be told, I wasn’t and still am not a planner. I just didn’t feel like dating anyone at the time, not with Milo still fresh on my mind.

“Really?” She rested back on her hands. “What’s the most sporadic thing you’ve done?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I took a cross country road trip right after I graduated high school. Me and my friends literally decided to go about ten minutes before we got our diplomas. We didn’t even tell our parents.” I chuckled at the memory. “They were so pissed off, but it was totally worth it. We did all sorts of crazy stuff, like snuck into concerts and clubs, went skinny dipping, slept outside underneath the stars. And I left America to study cooking here, all by myself, which takes a lot of balls.”

She studied me with her head tilted to the side, then a smile broke out across her face. “You know what, I think you and I are going to be really good friends.”

I remember thinking she was batshit crazy. I mean, who walks up to a complete stranger and declares a friendship? Yet, the longer I talked to her, the more I realized she was crazy, but in an adventurous, fun, wildly crazy sort of way. So, when she asked if I needed a roommate, I let her move in with me. We’ve been best friends ever since.

She was there for me whenever I really needed her, including when my parents passed away. And as her best friend, I was supposed to watch out for her.

Tears burn my eyes. “I get where you’re coming from, but you weren’t there last night. These guys she was with … they’re bad news—I could feel it.” Plus, there was the storm, but I’m not about to say that part aloud. “I’m really worried about her. I know Zoe does crazy stuff all the time, but … I just …” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I have a really bad feeling something’s not right.”

“Call the police station then, and see what they say,” Nora replies with a sigh. “Since she’s over eighteen, they’re probably going to make you wait twenty-four hours before you can file a missing person’s report. That’s what they told me when I tried to report her missing.”

My heart sinks inside my chest. “Twenty-four hours?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what they said the protocol is. You can still call, though. Maybe I’m remembering wrong. And let me know how it goes, and call me if you hear from Zoe. I really do think she might’ve just taken off, maybe with those guys you were with.”

A lump forms in my throat. If Zoe took off with Cole and Nolan, I’m not sure it was under her own free will. If our drinks were drugged, then I’m betting they had something to do with it.

By the time I get off the phone with Nora, I have to run to the bathroom to empty my stomach again. After I’m done, I call the police station, hoping Nora is wrong about the twenty-four-hour policy. But the operator pretty much repeats what Nora told me.

“She has to be missing for twenty-four hours before you can file a missing person’s report,” she explains. “And even then, there’s not much we can do unless there’s suspicion of foul play.”

“There might be,” I say, then explain to her what happened last night.

“Maybe she just went home with one of the guys she was with,” the operator suggests.

“No, it wasn’t like that.” I grow frustrated. “She wasn’t just drunk and went home with some guy for the night. Our drinks were drugged.”

“And you’re sure it was by these guys you were with?”

“No … But they were the ones hanging around and buying us drinks.”

“Do you have any proof you were drugged?”

“Other than the fact that I blacked out and can’t remember a damn thing for hours?” I snap. “Nope, not at all.”

“Drinking too much can cause that, too.” She sighs. “Look, if you still haven’t heard from your friend at the twenty-four-hour mark, you can come down to the station and fill out a report. Until then, I suggest calling her friends and family to see if anyone has heard from her.”

“She doesn’t have any family.” My head spins as I lie down on the bed. “And I already called all her friends.”

“Like I’ve said, you can stop by the station and file a missing person’s report when she’s officially been missing for twenty-four hours,” she repeats in a flat tone.

I hang up, fuming mad. How am I supposed to wait around for seven more hours when I have no clue where Zoe is and if she’s okay?

Tears pour from my eyes, heavier than the rain last night. I curl up in a ball, cursing the storm and cursing myself for not keeping a better eye on her.

This is all my fault. Just like my parents’ deaths.

And like with their deaths, I’ll never forgive myself for whatever has happened to Zoe.