Hangover

Abby slowly peeled her eyes open, feeling the weight of the morning pressing down on her. The room spun momentarily before settling into focus, and she winced as the sunlight pierced through the curtains, stabbing into her throbbing head like a dagger.

Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls, dry and parched. She tried to swallow, but her throat protested, feeling raw and scratchy. Groaning, she reached out blindly for the glass of water she hoped was nearby, her hand brushing against the nightstand until her fingers finally closed around the cool rim.

Taking small sips, she felt a slight relief as the water moistened her dry mouth, though it did little to ease the pounding headache that reverberated through her skull. How much had she drunk last night?

As her surroundings came into focus, panic surged through her veins. This wasn't her room. The walls were unfamiliar, the furniture foreign. Where was she?