Hangover

HANGOVER



The sunshine slants through the bedroom window, slashing the pillow with a ribbon of blinding brightness. Sacha groans as he rolls over, hands cupped over his eyes.

“What did we do last night?” he manages. “I feel like a bear shat in my mouth!”

“Me too…” I sit up slowly, nausea roiling in my belly. My head is splitting and the goddamn sun is so bright. A glance at the clock tells me that I’m already late to work. And I have already used up my sick days for this year.

“I don’t remember anything after that insane guy walked along the roof beam.” I say as I try to find the glass of water I always keep by the bed. “What about you?”

“I remember getting in a cab to come home. Then… nothing.” Sacha groans again as he catches sight of the clock. “I’m so late! Why the hell did we agree to go to a party on a Sunday? And I’ve got a conference coming in today. Fifty people for lunch.” Wincing and holding his splitting head together, Sacha creeps gingerly towards the bathroom. While I am not looking forward to going to work, at least I don’t have to deal with food until I’m ready to. Sacha’s a chef so he doesn’t have that luxury.



I get up, throw on jeans and a t-shirt, then stumble downstairs. My computer is on in the corner, the little icon that indicates new mail bouncing up and down on the desktop. I click on it and discover one e-mail, from an ex-boyfriend. I make a face as I open the attachment, wondering what he would be sending me.



I am still staring, open-mouthed, at the photograph, taken last night, when Sacha comes down the stairs…



299 words