NOAH
The first thing I felt wasn't love. It wasn't post-coital bliss or the lingering warmth of a lover's touch. It was pain.
Pure, unadulterated, localized pain.
Before my eyes even opened, before my brain had even finished loading the basic parameters of human consciousness, every nerve ending in my body sent back a status report, and the consensus was unanimous: I had been hit by a train. No, a train was too kind. I had been dismantled and put back together by someone who didn't follow the instruction manual.
Ow, I thought. It was the only word my brain could manage.
My muscles weren't just sore; they were protesting my very existence. My lower back felt like it had been used as a structural support beam for a skyscraper. My thighs were heavy, trembling with a deep-seated fatigue that made the prospect of walking feel like a marathon. And then there was the most pressing issue—the epicenter of the earthquake.
My ass was WRECKED.
