Archie carefully opened one eye. He saw with relief that he was looking at the framed print of "The Painter's Honeymoon," by Frederick Lord Leighton, which hung on his living room wall. Unless he'd somehow managed to get to the Museum of Fine Arts, in Boston, where the original hung, he was safely at home, on his sofa.

It was one of Clio's favorite paintings, and she'd made up an entire fiction to go along with the story when she was a little girl. The man had come from Italy to England to be an art teacher to a wealthy family, and had fallen in love with the daughter of the house whom he'd come to instruct. She'd fallen in love with him as well, and had flouted all custom and class norms, leaving her family behind to travel the world with him and be his wife.

"Look at how in love they are," Clio had enthused when showing the print to Archie. "See how she leans into him? And how he's drawing with one hand and clasping her hand with his other? Like they can't bear to be apart even for one moment? And look at how the artist has painted the luscious folds of her gown so they glow in the light, and the fruit tree in the back? They're in a warm, beautiful place, not cold, uptight England anymore--it's just so romantic!"

Archie opened his other eye and attempted to sit up.

Huge mistake.

His stomach gave one, warning roll, giving him just enough time to lurch to the kitchen sink, which was closer than the bathroom. Archie retched and heaved, and finally, long after he felt he couldn't possibly have anything left in his stomach, he was finished. 

Archie stood up straight and immediately felt like someone was whamming away on his head with a mallet. He groped his way to the coffee maker, got it going, and made his unsteady way to the bathroom after that, where he pulled his clothes off as quickly as he could. He noted in passing that his sweater was on inside out, and pushed down the nagging unease that began to grow in him. The T-shirt under it was right side in, however, which made him feel marginally better. He left it on against the chill of the bathroom.

When he got to his briefs, he saw that they, too, were on inside out, and the unease sprouted leaves and became worry. Archie ignored the pain in his head and pulled them off, stomping on them so he didn't have to bend over or lift his feet too high and risk falling over. He then urinated for a long time, his eyes closed, hoping he was hitting the middle of the commode and not splashing outside the bowl too much.

He reached into the cabinet without looking too closely at his hungover face for some pain relievers, wondering at his idiocy. What exactly had happened last night? The last thing he remembered clearly was Willow blowing the marijuana in his mouth and him yelling at her about it. A little after that, things got decidedly blurry and out of focus, and a little after that, things went blank altogether.

Archie closed the cabinet and looked at his bloodshot eyes and day-old stubble. 

"You look like a can of smashed assholes," he announced dourly to himself. He turned on the tap so he could take the pills, but the water was too loud. He turned off the tap and dry swallowed the pain relievers, and noticed something else as he watched his Adam's apple move up and down in his neck.

He had a row of three suck marks on his neck, love bites they called them in England, that disappeared under the collar of his right-side-in T-shirt. They were called hickeys in America.

Oh no.

Worry sprouted more leaves and became a full-fledged plant of anxiety in his chest. Archie had been on tour with his brother, both when he was with The Jacks, and when he was touring as a solo artist, and he'd partied with the best of them. Never, ever, in all that time, had he gotten blackout drunk, however. And he found it hard to believe, no matter how impaired he was, that he'd cheat on Clio. 

It wasn't even a matter of having to hold himself back; he had absolutely no desire to be with anyone else, he hadn't since the day he met her. 

Could having a few drinks and one secondhand hit of pot make him want to be with someone else?

Archie didn't think it was possible. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the previous night, but he had absolutely no memories of anything from about an hour after he danced with Willow.

He slowly pulled his T-shirt off, dreading what he was going to see. The suck marks, which were in varying shades from purple to pink, spread out in a trail down his body, all the way to exactly where he didn't want them to go, a pastel treasure trail that ended at--

No. Oh no.

Lipstick marks on his groin, along with more suck marks. He even had some lipstick on his hands from where he'd held himself to go to the bathroom.

Archie felt sick, though he knew there was nothing to come up after how ill he'd been in his kitchen.

Who had put her mouth on him like that? And he couldn't even remember?  

He suddenly couldn't get in the shower fast enough. He ran the water as hot as he could and just stood under it for long minutes, bracing himself agains the wall with his hands. Finally he washed himself all over, starting with his hair and working his way down. Even though he knew he couldn't wash them away, he scrubbed at the love bites, which he realized after only highlighted them more on a background of red skin. When he got to his groin he washed himself until it almost hurt, wanting to get the feel of those unknown lips off him. 

He finally turned the shower spray to fine and the water to cold, letting the needles hit him all over his body, trying to jolt himself awake. His headache had begun to abate at last, and he could smell the wonderful coffee when he opened the bathroom door.

He threw his clothes in the hamper, put on fresh sweats and drank the life-giving coffee, feeling it rushing through his body with the caffeine it carried. He could finally feel the headache really receding, and he tried to think about what had happened to him the night before. 

He pulled out his phone and texted the only person he could think of under the circumstances.

Can you come for for a bit? I need to talk to someone.

The response came back right away.

Right now? I figured you'd still be sleeping off last night!

Yes, please, right now. It's kind of an emergency.

Okay, be there in a bit.

So Archie waited, drinking coffee and wracking his brain, trying to remember what had happened to him, until his doorbell rang.

"Thanks for coming so quickly, man," he said, leaning to give Zeke a grateful hug.

"You're welcome, not a problem, though, like I said, I'm surprised you're up," Zeke replied. He held out a bag of bagels, which Archie gratefully accepted. Zeke, of course, looked freshly showered and shaved, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and all that.

"Were you even there last night?" Archie asked, gesturing for Zeke to help himself to coffee.

"You don't remember?" Zeke asked with a grin.

Archie shook his head.

"I got there late, and left almost right away," Zeke explained. "I saw how things were shaping up, you know? I didn't want to be part of anything crazy like that." He didn't mention that the fact that Clio wasn't there made the party wholly unappealing to him as well. "I saw you dancing with Willow, and then shouting at her about offering you pot or something. That was right after I got there." Zeke took a bite of his bagel. "I had a beer, caught up with a couple of friends, then took off. When I left you were playing beer pong. I said 'hi' to you."

Archie had no memory of playing beer pong.

"What's this about, anyway?" he asked. 

Archie took a deep breath. "I'm not exactly sure how to say this," he began. He finally lowered the collar of his sweatshirt so Zeke could see the hickeys.

"How did you get those?" Zeke asked, his voice quiet with shock. "Clio's in Italy!"

"I know!" Archie's voice was anguished. "I mean, I don't know! I don't remember what happened, from about the time you say you left, it sounds like."

"Was it Willow? I mean, there were lots of girls circling you the whole time I was there," Zeke said. And now his voice held disapproval, which was what Archie had been dreading. 

"No, you're not listening to me," Archie said. "I don't remember anything. It's like my memory's been erased or something."

"So you drank until you were blackout drunk." Zeke sat back and crossed his arms, lips pursed. "I knew you were bad news from the beginning. You don't deserve Clio. I mean, she hasn't even been gone a day! Not that that matters at all." Zeke shook his head. "How could you?"

Archie swallowed and shook his own head. "I didn't!" His voice came out much louder than he intended. "I mean, I wouldn't, you must know that, Zeke!"

"I don't know anything anymore," Zeke countered, his expression morphing from disapproval to confusion. "All I know is that Clio is the absolute best, and she trusts you, and you're sitting across from me with a row of hickeys down your body."

Archie finally banged down his coffee cup in frustration. "Please, Zeke, I'd never willingly be with anyone other than Clio! How could you think I would?" 

He explained about how the one hit of pot had been forced on him, and how things had gotten decidedly odd after that. He told how he'd had a drink in his hand pretty much all night, and how he'd never, in all his years of partying, gotten blackout drunk before.

Zeke, whose expression had long since passed from disapproval to concern, leaned forward, putting a hand on Archie's arm. "Do you know what you're saying, Archie? I mean, have you heard the words you're using? You said you'd never 'willingly' be with someone else. But you obviously were with someone else, the evidence is on your body."

"I know," Archie responded, his voice frustrated. "What's your point? What are you saying?"

"Archie, you were raped."