NOAH
The first thing I became aware of wasn't the sunlight or the soft hum of the hotel's air conditioning. It was the fact that I had been hit by a freight train. Or perhaps a freight train had hit me, backed up, and hit me again for good measure.
I lay face-down in the pillows, my brain a sluggish puddle of gray matter. For one blissful, sweet, ignorant second, I existed in a vacuum. Then, like a dam bursting, the memories of the previous night came roaring back in high-definition, 4K resolution.
The club. The photo. The jealousy. The toys.
The begging.
"Oh—god," I muffled into the silk pillowcase, the sound coming out as a pathetic, gravelly croak. I didn't move. If I didn't move, maybe physics would stop applying to me and I would simply phase through the mattress and disappear into the floorboards. "Someone shoot me."
