Jim and Silvia didn't know for sure either.

The last bar they visited closed and daylight seemed to set their eyes on fire when they went back out to the street. So they got a taxi and hurried back to Jim's suite, to crash on the bed right as they were.

When Silvia was able to squint around, about noon, she thought she should've kept track of the drinks they'd had, to keep from mixing so many.

She pushed Jim's arm aside, a dead weight across her chest, and the inertia made him roll over to lay flat on his back as usual. Painkillers. Bag. That. But her reddened eyes tripped on his body, his arms wide open across the bed, legs hanging over the edge of the mattress, feet on the rug.

All of a sudden, she was painfully aware that he was leaving in a few hours and she might never see him again. Thinking straight was out of the picture, so she just followed her impulse and covered his face with soft kisses. Maybe she was savoring those dangerous velvet lips for the last time in her whole life.

Good thing he was still so out, because her eyes welled and her head fell on his chest, a cold spear piercing through her heart.

Why did she love him so much? How would she ever let him go?

Hangover heard about the drama and showed up right away, to kick anguish out of the torture chamber it had already rented for Silvia. Colic and dizziness played bouncers to take the place over again.

So exactly when Silvia fought back a heartbroken cry, the room spun three-sixty around her and a retch squeezed her throat. She managed to get up, grab her bag and stumble into the bathroom.

She was forced to a heinous face-to-face with the toilet until her stomach finished purging all that upset it. Only then she pulled her bag closer to look for the painkillers.

Why did she have a water bottle in her bag? Never mind. She gulped it up to swallow the painkillers and rested her back against the wall tiles, not trying any other move until the bathroom around her stopped waving and rippling.

At least now she knew that the next time Jim said to run a little crazy, she would need to keep a spare lever in the fridge.

Next time? What next time?

She managed to get to her knees first, and then on her feet, her elbows on the edge of the basin as she bent over, her hands together under the cold running water to sink her face and hide her tears and her suffocated cries.

It took her a good while to calm down, and she still kept washing her face some more. Facing the mirror showed her only what she expected: she didn't only feel like crap in every possible way, she also looked like crap.

She smoothed her clothes out the best she could. Bending over again to pick up her bag from the floor only felt like a big stone on the back of her neck. A moment later, she felt ready to walk out of the bathroom, fishing her bag to see if some stray miracle had dropped some wet tissues in there along with the bottle of water.

Jim's purring murmur made her look up and she froze, suddenly out of breath.

He was still lying on the bed, just like she'd left him.

And a girl was kneeling between his legs, her head coming up and down on his groin.

Silvia felt the cold sweat run under her clothes all over her body, unable to look away from seconds that felt like eternity, Jim still purring in pleasure, one of his hands coming to grab the blond hair spreading over his thighs.

Silvia's eyes jumped to the suite door; it was ajar, not closed. A moment later, she was running out. She could only stagger to the elevators down the hall. Air didn't seem to get to her lungs and everything spun around her again. She hit the buttons, panting. She needed to get the hell out of there before she collapsed in the middle of the hallway. She needed to get out. She needed to breathe.