Erran had fallen into dense, dreamless sleep halfway through the bowl of cereal that Gemma had brought him, knocked out by the heavy dose of Ativan. He slept hard all morning, and woke up only briefly when the thunder crashed and the lamp beside the bed went out. After blearily registering that there was apparently a fucking hurricane outside or something like that, he rolled over and went back to sleep.
When he woke up again around two o'clock (had he heard something?), he decided to have another go at eating something and got up—Gemma was in the shower so he knocked on the door to let her know he was headed for the kitchen. The rain was really intense, and he stood by the window for awhile watching the palm trees bend and toss in the wind. It was more weather than he'd ever really seen in person; he'd skipped out on Hurricane Sandy, leaving his house in Jersey to stay with family in Anaheim until it was over, and luckily he'd come back to a shitty flooded basement but not much other damage. It was pretty dark outside, more like evening than like early afternoon, but Erran was a little too medicated to get seriously worried about the storm. It'll be fine.
But when he opened the door to go down to the kitchen, he found Marco curled up on the floor in the hallway, hands over his ears. Uh-oh. "Hey, man, what's going on?" Erran said, crouching down next to Marco in the hall. "How are you doing, you need to talk?"