The morning after the night before
Lucien awoke with a groggy lethargy. a heavy, unwieldy hand attached to an uncooperative arm reached up to rub his eyes. His head was throbbing and he felt a strange mixture of overfilled and yet still hungry in the way he always was when he woke. Somehow it felt worse this morning not least because he had no idea where he was or how he had come to be there. This was like the worst of his law school drinking session fallouts times two. This was not his bed, he knew that well enough and he was still fully dressed.
Sitting up in bed with a wince as he brushed over the bruising on his forehead he wracked his mind for how it had come to be there. Then he looked over himself, what had been a crisp pressed suit the last time he looked was now a crumpled mass of fabric covered in blood, motor oil, and dirt. The unpleasant scent of congealed blood hit his nose and then an undercurrent of ... Flowers, ladies perfume. Lucien's head visibly twisted in confusion at that he distinctly remembered finding his wife on the receiving end of a nine iron and swearing off women.
Had he been a naughty boy?
He certainly hoped not, he was in no mood for an awkward conversation.
It was some effort to get off the bed, he felt like he'd been hit in the chest by a baseball bat. It wouldn't be the first time and no doubt it wouldn't be the last time either. The oil industry could be so needlessly macho.
Stumbling towards the door of the room he was in he made some effort to rectify his disheveled appearance. It would do him no good to appear looking like an alcoholic who'd been fished from a park hedge. With his hand on the door, he called out
"Hello? Is anyone there?"