Free tmp0 by Cat Johnson

Chapter 1: The Morning After
    It happened in stages. First came
just a tiny glimmer of consciousness. That’s when I realized I
was awake, but not much else. I knew this was the good part, because
things would only go downhill from here.
    I, Rose Thayer, was good and hung
over. Perhaps I was still drunk. Who could tell for sure? Certainly
not me in my state. The problem was, I didn’t remember drinking
enough to make me feel like this. Come to think of it, I couldn’t
remember much of anything at all.
    Either way, things weren’t
good. That realization hit when I started to feel things. My mouth
and throat seemed as dry as a bag of cotton balls. Unfortunately,
since I’d graduated from college only a couple of years ago,
this sensation wasn’t at all new to me. I’d suffered
through the morning
after in the past.
    Yes, I’d been down this
road before. I knew that should I attempt to move to get and then
drink the water I craved, I’d be sorry because next would come
the headache. Pain equivalent to having a screwdriver stabbed into my
brain. The headache from hell would sometimes be accompanied by
dizziness, which was always joined by nausea—reason number two
I wasn’t about to risk drinking anything.
    So instead I stayed right where I
was, not quite playing dead but sure doing a good imitation. I
breathed nice and slow, shallow so I wouldn’t jar anything or
anger the hangover gods. Maybe I’d fall back to sleep. That
would be good. Riding out the rest of this hangover in an unconscious
state seemed like a pretty damned good idea to me right now.
    But as always happens, I started
to think.
    What had I done last night? It
must have been a pretty kick ass time that landed me in this
predicament this morning. Another thought tickled my
consciousness—where was I, how had I gotten here and who else
was here with me? Okay, perhaps those should have been my first
thoughts, but I was running a bit slow in the brain department so I
decided to give myself a pass.
    I steeled my nerves for both the
pain and the possible shock and cracked one eyelid partially open. A
smoke detector blinked merrily next to a sprinkler head on the
ceiling above me. Okay, good sign. It seemed as if I’d actually
made it back to the hotel. I wiggled a fingertip and felt the
telltale scratch of a polyester bedspread beneath my nail. Definitely
hotel grade bedding.
    I began to piece together the
shattered remnants of my memory. I was in New Orleans. I’d
flown in yesterday for my best friend from college’s wedding
this weekend. Last night had been her bachelorette party—which
explained a lot of my condition now.
    I managed to lift my head enough
to glance down at my bottom half and not vomit. One look at the jeans
and heels I still wore indicated I’d passed out in my clothes
on top of the covers. Fine with me. I was happy to be here at all.
Though did my purse and wallet arrive with me or would I be calling
to cancel my credit card when I could finally get vertical?
    As the acid backed up my throat
and added to the already foul taste in my mouth, I realized right now
I couldn’t care less if my credit card were winging its way
around the globe on the Queen Mary II with an identity thief
pretending to be me.
    I flung one forearm over my eyes
and groaned.
    Never again. Never, never, never
ever. From now on diet soda only. Or perhaps, maybe a light beer. But
no more Hurricanes on Bourbon Street. Ever.
    This was Marci’s fault.
She’d ordered the first round. I would have been okay with just
a beer—
    Crap! Marci, Jen and Beth had
been with me last night.
    Unlike my possibly missing ID and
credit card, I probably should worry whether my friends had made it
back with me. Actually, Marci and Jen could be on their own, but if
I’d lost Beth during the bachelorette party I’d planned
for her, her husband-to-be would probably kill me. He was from the
deep south and in the Marines so he could do it too.
    He probably wouldn’t even
need a