Breakfast is a little awkward.
Okay, maybe it’s downright tragic.
My head’s still swimming a little after having a fitful sleep—Noah checking in on me every hour on the hour to make sure I do stay awake, and I can feel the veritable weight of my under-eye bags dragging me down to the floor.
My left shoulder aches where I made the collision with the ground, and there’s a twinge in my right ankle, and when I checked in bed this morning, it did look a little swollen.
I’m alive, I didn’t bash my brain in, I just rattled it a little last night, and all in all, I’m pretty good.
Noah looks worse for wear, though, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that I saw him without his shirt this morning and thought I was hallucinating that kind of dream that had an embarrassing sound of want escap
