What on earth could have happened to him? In addition to every bone in his body aching, he could never remember being so thirsty. Gently, he coaxed his tongue down off the roof of his mouth where it had been apparently super-glued. He tried to swallow—big mistake. Had he tried to eat broken glass? He knew he’d been drunk—make that super drunk, epically drunk, more-drunk-than-anyone-had-ever-been-in-the-history-of-the-world drunk—but he wouldn’t have tried to hurt himself, no matter how depressed he’d been. Would he? Moaning, he managed to pry one eye, then slammed it shut at the sudden influx of sunlight. “Aahhkk.” Had that sound come from him? It sounded like the noise his cat made coughing up a hairball, and it would have alarmed him if he hadn’t had so many other things to worry about at the moment. Like the fact that he had to pee like a fucking racehorse and that for some reason he couldn’t seem to be able to move his arms.
