Everything hurt. Her whole body hurt. She reeked of booze and something else she couldn’t identify. Slowly, to avoid breaking in half, she rolled onto her back. Her stomach kept rolling, doing somersaults, it seemed. Closing her eyes in an attempt to reduce the spinning of the room around her, she prayed not to throw up. She had an awful feeling that was a prayer that would not be answered. “Good morning.” “Oh, my God! Not so loud,” she whispered. Vincent’s answering chuckle was muffled. “I think you had a very good time last night.” “You’ll have to ask someone else. I don’t know. This can’t be good. I’m dying, aren’t I?” Vincent laughed again, louder this time, but tried to muffle the sound when he saw her wince. Taking her hand, he placed two ibuprofen in it and handed her a glass of some unknown liquid. “What is that?” “That would be Ruby’s hangover cure. She sent some over this morning. I think she expected me to be the one needing it, not you...Though she’d be proud—very proud.”
