The next morning, Anna woke with a pounding headache that felt like hammers striking against her skull. Her stomach churned, her mouth dry, and every limb in her body begged her to stay under the covers.
Last night had been chaos. She had drunk far more than she could tolerate, and now her body was making her pay the price. Still, a small sigh of relief slipped from her lips—at least she'd made it home safely.
Groaning, she pushed herself upright, wincing at the sharp throb in her temples. She blindly reached for her phone on the side table, her hand fumbling before she managed to grab it.
She hadn't meant to drink. One can of beer had seemed harmless enough. But then things had escalated—one drink became two, two became four—and by the time she realized, it was far too late. Regret now pressed down heavier than her hangover.
"I hope Betty's doing better," she muttered, squinting at the screen as she quickly typed a message to her friend.
