"Fucking hell, am I dead?"
Alexander groaned as he tried to open his eyes, his voice low and hoarse. The ceiling above him spun slowly, the soft whir of the air conditioner too loud for his pounding head.
"Dead," he muttered again, dragging a hand across his face. His throat felt dry, his skin sticky from the sweat and alcohol that clung to him. He could still smell the club- smoke, perfume, spilled drinks, the faintest trace of someone else's laughter that didn't belong to him.
He groaned, sitting up slowly. His head throbbed as he looked around him. he was in an hotel room and God, he could barely remember how he had gotten there.
"What the fuck?"
The blinds were drawn halfway, slicing faint lines of sunlight across the room. Though he was alone in the room, the mess in front of him made him wonder if he was actually responsible for it. His jacket was on the floor, his shirt on the bed next to him wrinkled and his tie and trousers missing.
