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Too. Much. Whiskey.
The following morning, my head was absolutely pounding.
What the fuck happened last night?
I awoke in Johnny's bed—with Johnny missing from beside me. What time is it, even? I glanced over at the bedside table and saw Johnny's alarm clock—11:08 AM.
Before I knew what was happening next, an all-too-familiar nauseating feeling washed over me. Oh, shit. I ran for the bathroom, barely making it in time, shutting the door behind me loudly. I guess Johnny isn't here, I assumed.
After about twenty more minutes, I felt shaky, but a bit better.
Johnny came back at that time, and found me looking white as a ghost in bed. "Lucy! Oh, honey..." his tone was far too pitiful for my liking. "What can I do?"
He walked over to me, placing his hands on my back and rubbing gently in an attempt to soothe me. I must look horrible. "I went for coffee and bagels, but if you're not ready for food, let me at least run you a bath."
Johnny's kindness was almost alarming for some reason. It's not like Austin was a complete failure of a boyfriend, but the number of times he had offered to 'run me a bath' over the course of our six-year relationship came out to a whopping zero occasions.
