When I woke up, Phil was gone. I checked the bathroom and jogged downstairs, wondering if his drunk self wandered off in the middle of the night only to find him sitting at the kitchen bar next to Violet. He had his face pressed against the granite, facing away from me and Violet was rubbing his back. I took a couple steps toward them and Violet’s head snapped up, stopping whatever she was talking about as she glared at me. I glared back, taking the stool next to Phil.
“He was throwing up most of the night,” she muttered, still rubbing his back.
I slapped her hand away from him. “You should have woke me up.”
“You sleep like a bear,” she hissed, frowning.
“Then he should have woke me up,” I insisted.
“Phil was in no condition—“
“I’m right here,” he murmure
