Nash
I woke up with the second-worst hang-over of my life. Immediately when I turned my head, my stomach turned itself inside out, and I had to sprint for the bathroom before I spewed the acidic contents of my stomach all over that very posh bed. I locked the door, for the sake of my dignity, and proceeded to throw up the bilious remnants of last night’s drinking spree.
When my stomach finally stopped heaving, I was covered in a stinky sweat that smelled like stale whiskey and stress, and so I dragged my aching carcass into the shower. I washed off, dry-wretched some more, and brushed my teeth about twenty times before I opened the door to face Daphne.
She was so bright and fresh-faced and happy, it hurt to look at her. Well, my eyes hurt, anyway. And my head. Jeezus, my head hur
