THE HANGOVER

I pull myself up from the comfortable bed and drag my lazy ass to sit up. I have a blinding, pounding headache, and I feel so tired and wasted. It's like I puked all my lungs out, leaving my belly empty. My wristwatch reads a quarter past ten. I am not even surprised that I slept this much. The shame of the mess I made last night in this house must have kept me in bed until this late. That was quite a huge mess.



I wish there was a way I could evade catching a glimpse of Damian, but the only way to do that is for me to latch myself in this room forever, which I can't. Not when my stomach is growling like this. I need to grab something to eat and some painkillers for this damn headache.

"Crap!"


I curse as I tap my feet on the ground, my hands aiding my head. I feel like it weighs ten kilos. My goodness! Is this what they call a hangover? Is this what people experience after taking that fucking shit? If there was a time that I loathed that bitter liquid, it was undoubtedly this minute. I and alcohol are done—like, completely done! I can't believe this guy has the nerve to drown bottles of that thing in a day while I do. These are the effects of just half a glass, and I can't estimate the little amount that remained in my stomach after all that throwing up. Jeez! He should be crowned for that.

I throw a glance at the bar parlor, where I made a complete fool of myself. Is it cleaned up? Double shame! What an incredible guest I am! I won't be astonished if the guy asks me to leave his house at this minute. He should have kicked me out last night.


I scan my eyes around the room as I cross over to the kitchen, sighing in relief when I don't spot him anywhere. I don't think I have it in me to face him. I know I have to at any given minute, but I am glad for every single second that passes without him popping up in my face. Ghosh! I have never embarrassed myself like that. Poor guy! He was just helping a stranded stranger, only to haul a messed-up ass into his beautiful house.

I don't know the ways of nursing hangovers, so I just grab a packet of juice and take big sips. Hopefully, it gets better because I don't know how long I can withstand the headache. I have never done something so stupid in my life. Not even what that stupid son of a bitch, Leo, did to me got me this humiliated. Huh! And I was told that alcohol helps you forget. What a lie! I thought I would wake up feeling like a newborn—without any pain or heartaches, not sorrowful memories. This just proves I was right all along—you don't forget about alcohol. It just screws your brain for a short while, and I just got off that ride. I cursed it a thousand times.

My lamentations are stopped by the sound of the front door opening, making me quiver. He was out? Then he should have stayed where he went for at least a bit longer. Today is Monday, right? Shouldn't he be at work?

I take another sip just as he strides in wearing nothing but gym shorts. He is dripping wet on the upper shirtless part from sweating. The pain in my head dwindles for a minute to allow my eyes to devour the gorgeous view of his six-pack on display. My! My! My! This guy is just flawless in beauty.

"Morning!" As usual, he is the first to speak, snapping me back to my senses before I start drooling over him like a delicious piece of meat. That is, if I wasn't doing so already.

The pain hits me again, making me groan softly. Damn!

"Morning!" I murmur, peeling my gaze off of him.

I should concentrate on the juice, but I can't tell whether it is helping or not. I am about to finish the whole bottle, yet neither the pain nor the laziness are lessening.

"Here. For your headache!" He mumbles, sauntering to me and handing me some painkillers, of which I don't care to know the names. He is an alcohol expert, so I will trust him on this.

Savior!

I hope the meds work really quickly because the pain is terrible.

"What exactly were you thinking?" He queries, pulling a stool for me, and I nearly drop down on it, taking a deep breath out.

What was I thinking? Was I even thinking? Ooh, yeah! I thought he was actually right. Alcohol takes away your burdens. Helps you forget. With the way he was drowning that shit gloriously, I was almost convinced that it tastes good. Like milk, perhaps, or cappuccino, at least.

"Didn't you tell me that this thing helps you forget?" I mumble, earning a serious glare from him.

"So it's my fault now? I remember saying I wasn't encouraging you to drink," he says in defense, and he is right.

Sigh! "I didn't say it was your fault, so don't put words in my mouth, okay? And, can you please, just please, spare me for now? I have enough of this freaking headache, so, please!" I plead, and I know I sound like a spoiled brat.

"As you wish, but next time you want to try that shit again, just remember that alcohol is not soda or some yogurt. You gave me quite a hard time."

Huh? Who said there would be a next time? Never! And why is he throwing tantrums, huh? Has he forgotten how he blacked out on me just the other night? What? That was nothing?

"We are even now, right?" I mutter, and he wears his murderous glare.