Chapter 77: Hangover
Abby slowly peeled her eyes open, feeling the weight of the morning pressing down on her. The room spun momentarily before settling into focus, and she winced as the sunlight pierced through the curtains, stabbing into her throbbing head like a dagger.
Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls, dry and parched. She tried to swallow, but her throat protested, feeling raw and scratchy. Groaning, she reached out blindly for the glass of water she hoped was nearby, her hand brushing against the nightstand until her fingers finally closed around the cool rim.
Taking small sips, she felt a slight relief as the water moistened her dry mouth, though it did little to ease the pounding headache that reverberated through her skull. How much had she drunk last night?
As her surroundings came into focus, panic surged through her veins. This wasn’t her room. The walls were unfamiliar, the furniture foreign. Where was she?
Then, she noticed Remo sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on her, a mixture of concern and amusement playing across his features. Abby’s heart skipped a beat as the events of last night flooded back into her hazy memory.
Remo had taken her here. They had been drinking together yesterday. But where was "here"? And why did she feel like she’d been hit by a freight train?
"Morning," Remo said, his voice gentle yet tinged with amusement.
Abby managed a weak smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Morning," she croaked, her voice barely audible.
Remo rose from the couch and approached her bedside, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he feared startling her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, genuine concern etched into his expression.