Wake Up Motherf****r -

Leo’s hands shook. He tried to remember Friday. Friday was… nothing. A void. He remembered Thursday—he’d lost his job. He remembered Saturday—waking up on the floor with a split lip and a parking ticket in his pocket. But Friday was a black hole.

The reply came before he could lower the phone. wake up motherf****r

The phone buzzed again.

His phone buzzed one last time.

He looked at the duvet. So warm. So easy to just lie back down, pretend this was a dream, a wrong number, a prank. Leo’s hands shook

Leo stood up. He pulled on jeans stiff with last week’s coffee. He slipped the key card into his pocket, the envelope under his arm. As he reached for the door handle, he caught his reflection in the smudged microwave door—bloodshot eyes, unshaven jaw, a face he barely recognized. A void

He whispered to himself: “Wake up, motherfucker.”