Darkness.
That was the first thing I registered. A deep, suffocating darkness that seemed to pull me under, refusing to let go.
Then, pain.
A dull, throbbing ache radiating from the side of my head, my ribs, my legs—everywhere.
A faint beeping sound echoed in the distance, growing louder with every passing second. My eyelids felt like they were made of lead, but I forced them open, wincing at the harsh white light flooding my vision.
I was in a hospital.
The sterile scent of antiseptics and faint murmurs of nurses confirmed it. My entire body felt like it had been slammed against a brick wall. Then, flashes of memory hit me all at once—the bar, the drinks, the road, the blurred headlights on the road—then nothing.
A groan escaped my lips as I shifted slightly, pain shooting through
