Novel & Cerita Book Hangover Meaning

My brain feels fuzzy. “Also, you feel horrible because you are suffering from a hangover.” He helps me in bed, spreading the comforter over me. Hangover? Funny. “Only people who drink get hangovers. I don’t drink.” I answer, and a small laugh escapes my mouth amidst an excruciating headache. He stares at me like I’ve lost my head. “What?” I enquire when he keeps staring. “You don’t remember anything from yesterday?” “Erm…” Fragmented pieces of memories flood my brain.

Walking felt like work, and it did nothing to help the thumping in my skull. What was the name of that drink again? Something with an H? No—wait. It was Japanese. With a Y? How I got down the stairs without tripping over my own feet was a miracle. I slumped onto the couch, another groan escaping me as I closed my eyes. Getting drunk isn’t the easiest escape. Hangovers exist to remind you that every action has a fucking consequence. “You’re awake, I see,” a voice came from above me, and I hummed—too lazy to open my eyes. Judging by how close the voice was, I could picture him right beside the couch.

"Ouch, ouch!" I said from the pain in my head while standing up from the bed. I drank too much last night because of that gag. I already have a problem in life, that arrogance will add to it. "Ouch!" I slowly went to the bathroom and washed myself, then I went to the kitchen to drink coffee. “Hangover again!!” I whisper as I sit on the high chair and fix my top strap up. I just remained dumbfounded while drinking coffee when I suddenly remembered something.

Fear gripped me, I looked around my room to see if it was real but I was alone – no dead body, and no one was covered with blood. I woke up to a sharp pain piercing through my temples. The throbbing in my head intensified, a feeling that can only mean one thing – the hangover has arrived with a vengeance. As I groggily blinked my eyes open, memories flooded back like a tidal wave. I remembered everything from the night before, and the weight of that knowledge felt heavy in my chest. I recalled the heated argument with Alpha Ambrose, the hurtful words that he said to me hit me like jagged shards of glass cutting into my soul.

There is a private room that a friend deliberately rents to celebrate a birthday with only close friends attending. For more than four hours, they were all in the Bar. Until it was 12.30 pm, and Mario intended to go home. Coming down the stairs while talking, Mario's eyesight accidentally caught a woman he knew so well sitting leaning his head on the bartender's table like he was drunk. To confirm what he saw, Mario quickened his pace. Closer, then closer. And it turns out his guess was correct. There was Aurorae, leaning back, holding a glass filled with a drink. It was evident that the woman was in a drunken state.

It was more than just a drink; it was a part of the social experience, a way to relax and enjoy each other's company. Hunter stood by my side, watching me with a gentle smile. “Be careful with the beer, Fierce. You don't want to wake up with a massive hangover tomorrow.” I furrowed my brow, not understanding what he meant. “What's a hangover?” Hunter laughed, seeming to enjoy my lack of knowledge about the human world. “It's when you drink too much, and the next day, you feel terrible. Headache, nausea... and a lot of regret.”

I mumbled as I hurriedly got up, only to be hit by a hard wave of vertigo that sent me to the floor. ‘Motherfucker!” I! WILL! NEVER! DRINK! AGAIN! Why hasn’t anybody mentioned anything about hangover? It was terrible. I got up and walked to the door, I needed to see if I was in a hotel or what! I took steady slow steps while clutching my head and opened the door. The familiar walls of my bosses’ apartment stared at me. NO! WAY!

CLARISSA’S POV. The aching in my skull ebbs and flows like a cold tide, yet the pain is always there. I understand at once why they call it a hangover. From the pounding head, vomit taste in my mouth and dehydrated feeling I feel, I figured I must have been drinking heavily last night. My throat felt like sandpaper. It hurt to move. It was like the flu only self-inflicted, Maybe I could sleep it off. Thinking that I curled under the duvet and closed my eyes.

Whoever invented the word 'hangover' had it spot on. Hangover was exactly right. I didn't want to stand, I wanted to hang over something. Scrub that. I wanted to lie down, sprawl across the sales counter and press my aching forehead against its cool Formica surface. How could I be such a lightweight? I'd only had three quarters of a bottle of Chardonnay. "Sam."

It means he was acting like an older brother. Or a father. I crush the voice to pieces, shove every thought it put in my head away, and order another round. The best way out of a hangover is to go deeper.