rowilde
What day was it? How long had she been out? It felt like a damn truck ran her over. This couldn’t be death. If she was dead, she wouldn’t feel like crap, would she? Rubbing her head, she coughed as she sat up, her throat feeling raw, sore. Stumbling out of the bed, she glanced around, not recognizing the place which led her to panic a bit. Running into the little night stand, the lamp crashed to the floor, “Fuck,” she rasped, coughing again. “Where th’ fuck am I?” her voice was hoarse and raspy. She made it to the bathroom, flicking the water on, and rinsing out the disgusting taste in her mouth, leaning herself against the counter to support most of her weight.

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