A loud, drawn-out groan echoed through David Jones' apartment.
"Arrghhh…"
It wasn't just the apartment groaning—it was him. His entire body ached like he had just been thrown down a flight of stairs. A high-pitched ringing sound cut through the silence, its shrill tone mercilessly attacking his ears.
David clenched his eyes shut, refusing to open them. He didn't need to. He already knew what it was—his alarm. And he hated it.
Still lying in his bean bag, he flailed an arm out blindly, searching for his phone. His fingers touched nothing but air. Frustrated but stubborn, he tried again, groping around without opening his eyes. His hand met the cold surface of the side table—but not his phone. He reached further—nothing. He groaned louder, his face twisting in irritation. His hand continued its aimless search until, finally, his fingers brushed against the vibrating device.
With an exhausted sigh, he turned off the alarm, a small smile of triumph crossing his lips. Victory.
