Frost woke the following morning with one very important discovery: His back was fucking killing him!
"Ugh..."
His eyes slowly opened as a dull ache spread from his lower back all the way to his shoulders.
He simply lay there for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering why his entire body felt like he'd spent the night sleeping on a slab of concrete.
Frost's expression gradually darkened.
"Oh, right... The bed."
He attempted to sit up, and a terrible stiffness immediately ran through his back.
"Fuck!"
Frost froze halfway upright, one hand instinctively reaching behind him.
His muscles felt stiff as hell.
After slowly forcing himself into a sitting position, he twisted his torso from side to side, producing several satisfying cracks from his spine.
"Ahh... Fucking hell."
He looked back at the bed with genuine resentment. Calling that thing a mattress was an insult to mattresses everywhere.
