Archer
Waking up is painful as I realize I’ve rolled over on the side of my head with fresh stitches. Back in my college days, I could play football in the quad, get tackled by fifteen different guys, and wake up without much soreness the next day. Fuck, I could even go out that night and have a great time.
It’s amazing how a few years on the body can change the way it reacts.
While twenty-two-year-old me would’ve been hopping up, heading to Waffle House, and getting a plate of hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered.
Today? I’m fucking hurting.
Gingerly, I lever myself out of bed before putting my feet on the floor and dropping my head into my palms.
Beside me, my phone beeps with an incoming message.
AL: Are you awake? How are you feeling?
AR: Just woke up and feeling pretty rough.
AL: Want some company?