Unfortunately, now that consciousness seemed to have gotten a hold on her, it was refusing to let go. The problem with being awake, especially at that particular moment, was that it included not just the ever-present heartache, but a whole new kind of awfulness that Lani hadn’t experienced in quite some time. She was hungover. Or, actually, if the persistent wavering and blurring of the world past her squinting eyelids was any indication, she was still drunk. Still really, really drunk. The first order of business was to sit up. She could do this. Seriously. If she could ride the barrel of a thirty-foot swell with one arm in a bag-wrapped cast and win a national championship in the process, then surely she could manage to lever herself upright. Oh, god. That hurt. Movement, even twisting her head slightly, sent lances of pain shooting through her skull. Once she was upright at last, the next order of business was to figure out where she was, and why. Maybe finding out when she was would be an even better place to start.
