Bright. Too bright.
I blinked, staring over at a muted television and frowned, reaching around for a remote. It was tucked against the side of Phil who was underneath of me, I realized. Groggily, I flicked off the TV and went to sit up only to realize his hand was resting on my head. It flopped to the side, palm up, and he didn’t even seem to notice that I’d jostled him as I looked him over, taking in his sleeping face. His head was lolled to the side, lips parted slightly, his other arm raised up, hand tucked beneath the pillow under his head. I’d fallen asleep on him when I . . . pressing my palm to my forehead, I sighed, feeling the dull ache behind my eyes. I cried a lot, I guess. Must be dehydrated. Did I even drink anything today?
Water.
Phil always has water
