When he woke up he didnt’ know where he was or how he got there. The only thing he knew that this was probably the worst hangover in the history of mankind. His head hurt like there i were a million tiny little people in there hammering against the insides of his eyelids whie his mouth was so dry that he felt like he could an entire case of Coke and that still wouldn’t quench his thirst. „What the hell happened last night?“. Jonathan tried to recall the events of the last night but his head didn’t seem to want to funtion at all. He slightly twisted his head to the right and saw hair, blonde hair and definitely not his. „did I? who is his? Where am I?“ A million questions popped up in his head and when he pat himself down to see if he was still wearing any clothes he already knew the answer.. no shirt, definitely no shoes but sure as hell a lot of sevice. His head started racing and he knew that no matter who this girl was he didn’t even want to find out all he wanted was to get into his clothes and out of this appartment and home as fast as he could. He looked around the room. The apartment was not at all familiar to him. There were pictures on the wall of people had never seen in his life, there was art that none of his friends would have found beautiful and the plants were fake. He couldn’t see any trace of a familiar face, a common interest or anything else that might have made him come here. He tried to lift his head up to at least get a better glance at the girl he just spent the night with but she had the blanket between her legs pulled up to her nose so that he couldn’t even make out her features. „Whatever“, as quietly as possible Jonathan tried to get up, with the dizziness in his head getting worse with every move. When his feet iht the cold ground beneath him he finally realized what he did and that he needed to get home immediately. Without even thinking he tried to find his clothes, luckily they seemed to have been drunk enough to just have dropped everyhting rioght in front of the bed so he climbed into his boxers and jeans with an ease as if he was sober, found his shirt on the night stand slung over the lamp and grabbed his shoes and socks to bolt for the door. He will put them on later he thought to himself and felt sorry for the poor girl who probably had no idea why he left in such a hurry but neither his hangover nor the rush he was in allowed him to think about her for more than one second. „I fucked up again“, was the only thing that came to mind.