Imani was just supposed to make sure that the lost dog got home safely, come back, and pretend like the mere thought of the owner with doe eyes and an armful of tattoos didn't make her question her entire belief system. Sounds simple enough...right...
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The morning after performance night only ever goes one way: All of us wake up later than usual, and have a quiet breakfast at the table together while we deal with post-gig exhaustion replacing the excitement from the night before.
But today, the rays of the sun seeping in through the thin curtains that definitely don't belong to my room attack my face, and I realize my head is resting in an uncomfortable position and currently giving me a stiff neck only for a millisecond before the distress is punched in the face by a monster headache; one that births from the very middle of my forehead and then equally spreads left and right, crackling like thunder behind my eyes.
If I couldn't hear familiar voices talking in hushed whispers around me, I'd just assume that I had somehow died and was currently in hell.
"Ah, I think the woman of the hour is awake."
I try to reply with a 'please stop yelling' but it only comes out in a series of several groans that I think sound suspiciously inhuman, the familiar sound of a cackle that follows confirming my theory a beat later.
"Oh, baby, I'm talking in a perfectly normal voice."
"Ugh."
They laugh again.
"Stop bothering her," chides another voice, although it sounds amused as well. "Imani, I got you some ibuprofen. Do you think you could sit up? I'll help."
"Just give her more alcohol. Hairy Dog or whatever. Does that even work?"
"Hair of the dog," someone corrects patiently in a way only Sean could. "And that just perpetuates the cycle. It doesn't help you recover. I wouldn't advise using alcohol as a hangover remedy."
"Yeah, you probably made her headache worse, grandpa."
I reach out to take hold of whatever support is near me, fingers curling around the backrest of the couch (that explains the kink in my neck), and push myself up in a sitting position without opening my eyes. All the while I can only hope that my head doesn't whack into someone else's.
My body feels like it's ten times heavier than it's supposed to be, and it takes me a few seconds to register the fact that there's a hand rubbing soothing circles against my back (it's big, and warm, and undoubtedly Ved's). I crack my eyes open just a little—enough to take the glass of water out of Layla's hand—and try to look at her with what is hopefully a grateful smile and not just a grimace.
She smiles at me fondly and shakes her head, handing me the medicine next.
I realize how dry my throat is only when I begin gulping the water down, and my eyes taking note of the fact that I'm still in the same dress that I wore yesterday acts as the catalyst that sets all the memories from last night in motion inside my head.
"Damn, Imani, I've never seen you drink so much," Ved commented with a furrow between his eyebrows, only to get a whack on the shoulder from Juni.
