My face felt like somebody punched me hard and my body felt abused. The thoughts from the night prior were spotty at best. I remembered his face. It was gentle, his eyes bright, and his smile, warm and inviting.
Who was he? Where was he? How did I get home?
I listened to my messages in search of a clue, but turned up empty.
My brows furrowed as my brain worked like the little engine that could. My memory was failing me miserably. How depressing.
I headed to the kitchen to pour myself a drink.
Jack Daniels straight up, no ice.
I shot it back and felt the soothing burn in the back of my throat as I slumped down on my kitchen floor with the bottle thinking “shit, I really need to quit drinking.”