I try to get up slowly, but my body feels like I’ve been hit by a train. My muscles are sore and even my joints ache like I’m coming back to life after being dead for a thousand years, so I stop trying. I lay there in agony, hoping I don’t throw up all over my floor. I try to go back to sleep, but I get no relief as the room keeps spinning, and everything is made a thousand times worse when I hear a knock at the door of my apartment.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I whisper to myself as I open my eyes and pray my mind is playing tricks on me. Please tell me there isn’t someone at the door, because if there is, they’re shit out of luck. I’m not getting out of this bed for anything.

Another rap on the door comes, this one louder than the first, and now I know I’m not hallucinating from the hangover. Nonetheless, I don’t move a single muscle except to cover my face with the blanket, but a text notification on my phone forces me to be alive. I reach over and grab the phone off the nightstand to find a message from Juliana.

Juliana: Bitch, answer the door. We have a surprise for you!

I drop the phone on the floor and let out a loud, painful groan as I force myself to get up. The instant I’m upright, my head pounds like the bass from Club 505 and I don’t want to move any further. Taking a deep breath, I pull myself to my feet with blankets wrapped around me like a burrito, and drag my feet all the way into the living room, where I open the door and find two silhouettes standing in front of the brightest backdrop I’ve ever seen. The sun beams into my eyes and I have to cover my face and step to the side just so my head doesn’t explode.

“Fuck! Just come in,” I shriek, cowering from the sunlight like a vampire as I sit on the couch and groan.

“Damn, girl. Are you alright?” Juliana asks as she steps inside, followed by a brightly dressed DeShaun Rhoades, who looks at me like he’s seeing a dead body for the first time.

“No, I’m not alright. My head is killing me slowly,” I whimper. “I’m never going out with y’all again. Even the thought of alcohol makes me wanna puke.”

“Damn, Alina, you look a mess. You gonna be okay?” DeShaun asks as I close my eyes and slowly lower myself until I’m lying flat across the couch.

“No,” I mumble, pulling my blanket over my head again.