30
Tiff
Those were good drinks.
Wait.
I cracked an eye open.Where was I again?
Shit.Loft.Sam.Alcohol.
Fuck.
Ugh, my mouth tasted like shit.Where was the bathroom again?
Gathering what little energy I had, I rolled out of his bed and stumbled to the bathroom.Using the old college method of finger and toothpaste, I scrubbed what I could of my mouth, willing my stomach to settle.
So thirsty.Need water.
I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge (because, of course, Sam was the type to be prepared in these situations), chugging half before I dragged myself over to the couch.With a heavy thud, I flopped on it, face down, my brain pulsating a beat against my skull.
Ugh, why?
“Morning.”Sam’s voice carried across the room.
I groaned into the cushion, not bothering to open my eyes.How did he sound so chipper?
“This is your fault,” I grumbled.
“I don’t see how that’s true.”Was he smiling right now?
It took an enormous amount of effort to sit up.“You were the one who wanted to test those recipes.”
“And you were the one making them.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.Also, aren’t you meant to be the responsible one?”
“You think I’m responsible?”
My eyes narrowed so much they practically closed.I didn’t handle hangovers well, ok?“I hate you.”
He smiled.“You know, you say that a lot.”
“It’s true a lot.When it stops being true, I’ll stop saying it.Until then, go fuck yourself.”I laid back down.
“Come on.”He tapped my shoulder.
I cracked one eye open.“What are you doing?”
“We,” he emphasized, “are walking.”
“And why would we do that?”
“For many reasons, but right now, to burn off the hangover.”
“God, you don’t even hangover like a regular person.Who are you?Who made you this way?”
“If that is a dig at my parents, I’d rather you didn’t.”
