The clinking of glasses, cheers and jeers, whiskey being overloaded into your glass repeatedly, the sticky residue of your drink stains the table, leaving small circle marks on the oak wood. You were drunk off your ass, stumbling and sputtering around like a mindless child.

You can't really remember what happened in the bar, though you remember bumping into an also equally drunk guy, he was handsome and funny, you remember him slinging his arm over you with a drunken smile and offering you a ride in his car. The memory of stumbling together, giggling like school girls as you made your way to his car. No thoughts, just laughter.

Your mind seems to blank when you try to think what happened after getting in the car. You couldn't remember anything, though your current position says everything.

Your skin is littered in redish-purple marks, your hair dishevelled, and your body achy. Beside you, laid the man from the bar. He laid on his stomach, arms folded underneath his head, his back exposed to reveal the large red marks that tainted his skin. He looked flushed and tired, though he wasn't asleep. His barely opened eyes looking at you.

"Mornin." He managed to slur from his pounding hangover.