Hangover Square Novels & Stories

But now, she lay on the bed, flowing in the afterglow of their lovemaking. *** The next morning, the room was filled with sunlight as the rays streamed in through the window. Alex slowly opened his eyes, one after the other, and felt a throbbing pain in his head. It was the hangover from the alcohol he had consumed the previous night. He was glad that he at least got back home without getting into any trouble like the other time. He almost lost all he had all because of what happened the other time, he was glad that didn’t happen again.

She was exhausted before night fell, she dozed off while massaging his legs. *** Justin woke up to see a girl beside him on the bed, everything looked new to his eyes. He watched as the door opened and a woman came in carrying a glass of water. "Oh Justin, thank God you are fully awake! I hope the dizziness and headache has lessened?" Mrs Smith asked her son, happy that he's gradually coming around. Justin nodded and accepted the water she offered, he drank a mouthful of it and placed it in her palm again. "Who are you, please? Where am I?" Justin's question surprised Mrs Smith.

"Vince, let's be clear about one thing—you're the one who can't live without me. If you try to use a breakup to manipulate me again, don't blame me when I'm not so nice about it." Without so much as a glance at me, she slammed the door and left. As I watched her leave, I remembered how she had appeared out of nowhere that year. At the time, Mom was drunk, and a single phone call from Scott's father, Malcolm Barlow, had provoked her into a blind rage. She grabbed a wine bottle and hurled it at me and my father, Russell Cline. Dad had yet to recover from a serious illness and could barely even walk. We huddled in a corner of the house, with nowhere to run.

Bryce stomped down hard, snapping the Stafford butler's right hand—the one holding the knife. "Ahhh!" More sickening cracks followed. One by one, the Stafford butler's limbs were crushed underfoot. He collapsed into the blood like a heap of broken flesh, unable even to crawl. Bryce spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva, killing intent blazing in his eyes. "The Stafford family of Scallow City, huh? Tomorrow, I'll bring my men and flatten your ancestral graves—make you pay back every last bit, with interest!" The next morning, I sat calmly on the sofa, sipping hot tea at a leisurely pace.

Travis fucking Santiago. I ease myself onto the high bar stool and order a whiskey, keeping my eyes on the entrance not to lose my target who is yet to arrive. I don't want to miss out on him whatsoever. I swirl the brown liquid on my tongue loving how it burns my taste buds and down to my throat. To think this liquid could save me, I was highly mistaken because it did nothing but give me horrendous hangovers and headaches every morning, and yet, the horrible feelings still came back doubled. I hope tonight will make me feel better.

" I didn’t argue. I went to my room, closed the door behind me, and collapsed onto the bed, fully dressed. The quilt was cool on my overheated skin, my head was beginning to throb already. As I stared up at the ceiling, the night at Z-Fire replayed itself, from the lights to the drinks to the stranger with electric eyes, and for the first time, it felt exhausting rather than thrilling. Deep down, I knew Alister was correct. _____________ When I woke up, the hangover hit me hard. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my temples pulsed, and my stomach rolled when I shifted. I groaned and reached for my phone, half expecting to be disappointed.

I woke up to a searing pain in the back of my head. I couldn't even open my eyes. Shit! I have never felt this bad even when I was in college. I always limit my drinks when I am at a party except when I'm with Lisa. But even with my best friend, I hadn't felt this hung over. The whiskeys were very potent and I was an idiot for falling head-first into the trap laid out for me. I put both of my hands over my head. I heard someone closing on me. I couldn't even open my eyes and see who that was.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST *** Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, not everyone has your best interest at heart.... *** MAY 9TH, 2007 AMBER * The morning sun pierced my face from the curtains and I groaned turning to the other side. I sat upright and scratched my head. it was such a long night at the bar and I'm having a hangover. it's even worse than a migraine. My eyes had dark circles around them. I quickly picked up the bottle of aspirin on my desk and gulped it down with a bottle of water I found on my desk too.

Alfredo The sun pierced through the heavy curtains like a knife to my skull. I groaned, rolling over in the massive bed, my head pounding with the kind of hangover that made me regret every glass of whiskey from the night before. My jaw ached. My ribs throbbed. And the memories… they came back in sharp, broken fragments. Maria.

The slanted ceiling, the slightly stiff mattress with the one annoying spring that always jabbed my hip if I rolled too far right, the musty smell of my not-yet-laundered hoodie tangled around my legs. I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember when exactly I got home. Captain had dropped me off… kissed me. That part I remembered with painful clarity. Then I’d wandered inside, grinning like a damn idiot, and then— The phone call… Whiskey. Right. I’d poured myself a shot. Maybe two. Okay, four. Just enough to take the edge off. Or that was the idea. Now, I had a hangover, my tongue felt like carpet, and my brain was about as coherent as a Wi-Fi signal in the basement.