Cassandra
I groan as I roll over on my side. It feels as if someone had hit me over the head with something hard. Mixing whiskey with beer wasn't exactly the best idea last night. I sit up and bring my hand to my forehead, and a rush of motion sickness rises through me, almost knocking me back down.
What's that rule again? Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you're in the clear. I need to remember that rule if I'd like to avoid any future hangovers because they are horrible.
I somehow manage to get on my feet, walk to the right side of my bed, and look at the picture of my father. Crayvin's words slip through my mind when instead of answering the question of what his worst call was, he drank a shot. My dad never talked about the horror he had witnessed, but Tar
