Roisin
I woke up with a raging headache. The kind that made my skull feel like it had been split in two and stitched back together wrong. It pulsed behind my eyes in steady, merciless throbs, and every tiny shift of light made my temples scream. My mouth felt like it had been lined with sandpaper, my tongue thick and dry as cotton. I groaned low and dragged the pillow over my face, burying myself beneath it like I could smother the pain into submission.
How did I even get back to my room last night?
The question slammed into me with the same weight as the nausea curling low in my stomach. My brain was a sluggish mess, thoughts dragging through fog and sludge. Only broken fragments surfaced—hazy, out of order, and sharp around the edges.
There’d been music. Loud. Pulsing. People laughi
