I woke up drooling, face down on the couch with the decorative button stuck to my forehead. My mother had left me three more messages. I texted her that I was fine, just very busy. After a moment's reflection, I sent a second text.
Me: Do you have cancer or something?
Talia, Destroyer of Egos: Are you still high? Call me immediately.
If she wasn't experiencing concern due to a fatal diagnosis, then my first instinct had been correct: the call was to ream me out.
Me: So busy.
I checked the sharps container. It was empty save for the second dagger I'd made, but when I checked on it after coming back from the bathroom, that too had disappeared. I consulted the time on my phone. I'd made the knife about four hours ago, so that was the extent of these weapons' shelf life. Good to know.