ARIA
I woke up on the couch with a mouth that tasted like something stale and the inside of a metal can. My head throbbed, dull and heavy, as if someone had stuffed bricks into my skull. I didn't remember getting there. I just remembered the bottle. The feeling of regret. And then black.
The room was still dark. Still cold. The TV was off, the blanket half on the floor, and my phone was somewhere buried between me and the pillow. When I finally found it, the screen lit up with a stream of missed calls from Sarah.
Six. No, seven.
I stared at them.
A part of me wanted to feel bad, like I should. Another part was too tired to feel anything at all. I'd told her I probably wouldn't come back last night, and she still called. Because she cared. Because she always cared.
And all I did was disappear.
I forced myself upright. My head spun. My stomach churned.
Still, I got up.
