The headache that woke Angie from her wine-fuelled sleep felt as though it was being delivered with a mallet. She could almost hear the pounding, like the noise of a hammer driving a nail into wood. She gingerly opened her eyes just a small way to see how much pain the morning light would induce. It was severe, and she realised that she needed a drink of water if she was to have any hope of recovery. As soon as she thought of water her stomach answered with a growl that reminded her she had eaten a whole anchovy and olive pizza on top of the dose of indigestion that passed for breakfast the day before.
This was a hangover like she had not experienced in a while. Back in her depression days she had been in this state two or three times a week as she tried to drown her sorrows in alcohol and comfort food. Recently she had felt the urge to over indulge less and less and she had forgotten just how painful the morning after could be. She forced herself out of bed and to the bathroom to get herself a glass of water and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Having eaten too much and drunk even more the night before did nothing for her appearance. Her complexion looked waxen and her hair was a wreck.