“I can’t help it,” I whisper.
“You’re whispering too loud.”
I glare at him with one eye. “Why does my brain feel like this?”
“You were drunk. You were high. You danced like you were avoiding snipers.”
I close my eyes again. “No more updates.”
“You drooled on my hoodie.”
I pull the hoodie closer around me. “It’s my emotional support hoodie. I claim it.”
Griffin sighs. He looks like he wants to argue, but he’s too tired to deal with me. He rubs his face with both hands. “I need water.”
“I need a new life,” I mumble.
I attempt to sit again. Fail again.
My head drops back to the pillow. “This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”
He pushes up onto his elbow and looks at me. “Your glitter is everywhere.”
Great.
Last night returns in brief, painful flashes.
I shut my eyes. “Griff… did we talk about anything important last night?”
“You declared me your property.”
I groan. “No.”
“You defended me from a psychic,” he adds.
“Nooooo.”
“And you cried over glow sticks.”
I cover my face with both hands. “I want the earth to swallow me.”
“Hangovers are punishment enough.”
I peek at him. He looks tired, but he also looks amused, which I hate and love.
“Will you help me sit up?” I ask.
His hand slides behind my back as he pushes me up slowly, steadying me when the world tilts.
I lean into him for a second because he’s warm, and I feel like a flimsy piece of cardboard.
His arms tighten around me. “We need water.”
“We need new bodies,” I correct.
“No, we need water and food.”
“I can’t eat.”
