Game Theory × NH

005 | boron

× Horan

Hangovers. Also known as my kryptonite.

It felt like there was an ax planted through my head - the aching in my skull subsides and flows like a cold tide, swelling like a balloon only to deflate a moment later. I understood why they call it a hangover; it feels as if the blackest of clouds were over my head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon.

I hoped we were going to go sightseeing for the day because I didn't think I could take anything else. My splitting headache wouldn't allow it.

Pushing the arm off of me that belong to William, I got out of bed to open the curtains. If I was in pain, then I was going to bring everyone down with me. Also, I knew if I didn't get up then, there wasn't a chance I would get into the shower before we left for the day. Coach made us have four people to a two bed hotel room, so we were forced to share a bed with a teammate. I wouldn't have minded much if I wasn't stuck with William, also known as the bed hog.

"Do you know how expensive hotels are in Los Angeles?" Coach had said as we were being assigned our rooms yesterday. "Way too damn much, so that is why you will be sharing a bed with someone."

As soon as I pushed away the curtains in the hotel room and the warm radiance of the morning sun shined through, naturally there were moans and groans of objection from the lads still in bed. The plus side of being in California was that there was actually sun, something London wasn't very familiar with. The second the sun hit my eyes, however, I instantly regretted it. My head pounded and throbbed with memories of last night and I quickly closed the blinds again.

I sighed and realized then that I've been doing that a lot lately. I sigh when I'm frustrated with the statistics and can't make sense of the chemical models in the textbook, or when I sit in class for two hours and daydream of all the productive things I could be doing instead, or when I'm confused by the competing research literature on the desk in front of me.

But lately there had only been one reason for my exhale of breath, and that reason was Lynn Mercury. I knew, even though we had gone to California to watch her play, that this was far from over. I had the feeling she would be around quit often, unfortunately.

The digital clock on the night stand was glowing that it was nine in the morning. I had no idea what Coach had planned for the day, but whatever it was I knew he was going to be knocking on the door at any moment.

A pillow was thrown at me from Dylan. I caught it in midair and chucked it back at him two times the force he had.

Walking over to my duffle bag, I grabbed my little bottle of Advil, thanking my past self for thinking of packing it, and threw two pills into my mouth and swallowed it dry. Then I retrieved my clothes so I could get into the shower.

Before I could get to the bathroom, however, there was a knock on the hotel door. I opened it to reveal a well slept Coach Mathews. He was a tall man with scruff along his jaw with a baseball cap covering his dark hair.

"Good, you're up," he said matter-of-factly. It sounded more like a detail and less than a greeting, almost like he was checking it off his mental list for the day. "You all better be ready by ten thirty and meet me in the lobby. There's a big day ahead of us!"

There were more groans of protest that followed but I blocked them out by the bathroom door.

× × ×