The Twisted Obsession
Chapter 77: Hangover

Chapter 77: 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?

Then, she noticed Remo sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on her, a mixture of concern and amusement playing across his features. Abby’s heart skipped a beat as the events of last night flooded back into her hazy memory.

Remo had taken her here. They had been drinking together yesterday. But where was "here"? And why did she feel like she’d been hit by a freight train?

"Morning," Remo said, his voice gentle yet tinged with amusement.

Abby managed a weak smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Morning," she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Remo rose from the couch and approached her bedside, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he feared startling her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, genuine concern etched into his expression.

Abby tried to summon the words to describe her misery, but all that came out was a pitiful groan. She gestured weakly at her head, hoping he would understand the extent of her suffering.

Remo chuckled softly, though there was warmth in his laughter. "Hangover from hell, huh?"

Abby managed a weak nod, grateful that he seemed to understand without her having to utter a single word.

"I’ve been there," Remo said sympathetically, his eyes softening. "Let me get you some more water and a painkiller."

As Remo disappeared into the kitchen, Abby sank back against the pillows, her mind swirling with fragments of memories from the previous night. She remembered talking to Remo, the clinking of glasses and her dancing around. But the details were fuzzy, blurred by the haze of alcohol.

When Remo returned with a fresh glass of water and the painkiller, Abby drank it greedily after taking the medicine, feeling the cool liquid soothe her parched throat. She sighed, feeling a small measure of relief wash over her.

"Thanks," she murmured, offering him a weak smile.

Remo returned the smile, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he spoke. "We had quite a night, didn’t we?"

Abby nodded, though her memories felt like shards of glass, sharp and fragmented. She knew she needed to piece them together, to make sense of what had happened.

But for now, as she lay there, nursing her hangover and grappling with the consequences of her actions, all she could do was take it one sip of water at a time, hoping that clarity would eventually follow the storm.

As the cool water trickled down Abby’s throat, a bitter realization settled over her like a heavy fog. Despite the temporary respite from her hangover, the memories she had sought to drown in alcohol came flooding back with a vengeance, swirling around her mind like a relentless tempest.

Her father. His illness. The looming specter of his impending death that no amount of drinking could erase. It was there, haunting her, taunting her with its cruel inevitability.

Abby closed her eyes, the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her beneath their suffocating embrace. She had hoped that the alcohol would provide a brief reprieve from the relentless ache in her heart, a fleeting escape from the crushing reality of her father’s deteriorating health.

But now, in the harsh light of sobriety, the pain was sharper, more acute than ever before. It clawed at her insides, tearing through her defenses with ruthless precision, leaving her raw and exposed.

She could feel the tears welling up behind her closed lids, hot and unrelenting. Each one carried with it a shard of her shattered heart, a testament to the depth of her grief and the futility of her attempts to outrun it.

Abby’s chest constricted with the weight of her emotions, threatening to suffocate her in its relentless grip. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but the words caught in her throat, choking off her voice before it could find release.

In that moment, as she lay there, awash in a sea of despair and regret, Abby realized the true futility of trying to escape the pain. No matter how much she drank, no matter how far she ran, her father’s illness would always be waiting for her, a dark shadow lurking at the edges of her consciousness, ready to consume her whole.

As Abby lay lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts, the sound of her name being called snapped her from her stupor. She blinked, turning her gaze towards Remo, who stood at the foot of the bed, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Abby, I’ve been calling you for a while now," Remo said, his voice gentle but tinged with worry.

"Yeah, I’m here," she replied, her voice sounding small and distant even to her own ears.

Remo studied her intently, his gaze searching her face for signs of the turmoil that raged within her. Abby felt exposed under his scrutiny, as if he could see straight through the facade she had erected around herself.

"Are you okay?" Remo asked, his voice soft with genuine concern.

Abby forced a smile, though it felt brittle and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. "I’m fine," she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Remo’s expression softened, though there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He didn’t press her further, didn’t call her out on the obvious falsehood she had just uttered. Instead, he offered her a lifeline, a gesture of kindness amidst the chaos of her emotions.

"I’ll make you a hangover drink," he said, his tone gentle yet firm. "Just wait for me."