The Morning After

=====Ryan woke up with hammers beating on the inside of his head, and no recollection of what had happened the night before. He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, one hand shielding his eyes from the piercing light that streamed in from his windows. After downing a glass of tap water in one gulp, he refilled it halfway, and washed a pair of aspirin tablets down with it.
===== “Motherfuck…” Ryan muttered to himself, massaging his temples, then walked back into his bedroom and collapsed into the folds of his disheveled blankets. He remained there immobile for several minutes before willing himself to get up again. Maybe some food would ease his headache, he thought, and decided to make himself something to eat, even though he wasn’t sure if the faint rumbling in his stomach was hunger or nausea.
=====It was a simple breakfast—two fried eggs, a piece of toast, and some coffee—and only took him a few minutes to prepare, and only a few more to consume. He wiped up the soupy yellow remainder of the egg-yolk with the last bit of toast, and swallowed it after only a few chews.
=====Immediately he regretted the meal, all it did was further the discomfort in his stomach—it was nausea after all. After he emptied his stomach contents into his toilet, he washed his face with cold water, and looked up into his mirror. He looked like shit. He had well-past-five-o’clock-shadow, dark splotches under his eyes, and had the worn, disheveled look of someone who had slept outside all night.
=====Then Ryan noticed his clothing. He blinked a few times, and rubbed his eyes before he checked again to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things. But the crimson splatters, so dark he at first mistook them for black, still covered all of his sky-blue dress shirt, and even spread down onto his jeans a little too.
=====“What the fuck…” He asked, staring into his deep-brown eyes in the mirror; but try as he might, not a single memory of last night would come to him.