. . . . . . . Tiffany Lawrence . . . . . . .
I knew it was a stupid move trying to get to the bathroom myself for two reasons. One, because I had no idea where the bathroom was, and two, because I knew I couldn't hold the vomit in my stomach for much longer. But I still took that risk anyway. I wasn't thinking straight, and my head throbbed.
As I approached the bar, I suddenly felt too heavy and had to wait a bit. I have no idea how I remember every detail, but the next thing I knew, I was throwing up all over the place and causing a scene.
"Tiffany!" I kept hearing my name, but I couldn't move. The only thing I was aware of at the moment was the feel of strong arms beneath my chest, pressing against the sides of my breasts.
My head hurt painfully, and I couldn't take it anymore. The darkness took over me.
I woke up the following morning feeling a strong headache. It felt like I'd just been hit by a wrecking ball. I was laying on soft sheets beneath me. I tried to open my eyes, but the bright light burned my eyes. My eyes felt sore even when closed.
The smell of baking invaded my nostrils, and I tried to open my eyes. I peeled them open and squinted them to adjust to the light first before fully opening them to meet the bright daylight.
I was laying on my bed, wearing one of my old t-shirts. The pain in my head annoyingly kept coming back.