Up Motherf****r [best] | Wake

Leo sat up, heart jackhammering. He checked the door’s chain lock—still in place. Peeked through the peephole. Empty hallway, flickering fluorescent light.

Then he stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him. wake up motherf****r

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 sat up, heart jackhammering

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. Empty hallway, flickering fluorescent light

He didn’t want to. But his feet moved anyway. Under the sink, behind the half-empty bleach and a rusted pipe wrench, was a manila envelope. Inside: photos of Leo at a bar he didn’t recognize, wearing a shirt he’d never owned, laughing with a woman whose face was scratched out. Also a key card to a hotel ten miles away, and a handwritten note: Room 412. You checked in Friday. You don’t remember Friday.

A single text from an unknown number: