Gunshot

He again woke up on his bed. This time, his head was ringing even louder. He was again vaguely aware of the sunlight filtering weakly through the blinds.

Shawn winced. This was like a deja vu from the day before. The only distinction was that his mouth didn't taste like hangover yesterday. If tasted of blood. His blood.

How after all of that drinking did nothing to help his depression was even more frustrating. bottle. It hadn't helped. Not one bit.

Serenity’s panicked face swarmed before his eyes and he shut it, hoping that it would shut the image of her in such a bad state off but it didn't. It was creating a throbbing ache in his head. He couldn't afford this. He couldn't afford the luxury of self-pity, not when everything he cared about was in danger and on the verge of ruins.

He wondered if Serenity had given Sinclair the documents already. If yes, it meant he’d soon have cops banging on his door and not site workers.

He needed water, aspirin, anything to dampen the insistent dru