Martin woke up with his head and eyes heavy, as if his entire skull had been handcuffed to his pillow. His hand slipped out from under the blanket, searched blindly across the nightstand, and slapped the wood twice before finally finding his phone.
The alarm kept screaming like it had personal hatred for him.
There is no fucking way I have to get up right now.
For the past two weeks, he had been waking up with a spring in his step like some suspiciously healthy person. He went outside, ran, breathed fresh air, and almost convinced himself that his life was becoming stable.
Running had become his dopamine. He could already see the results in his legs and body, so he had honestly believed the habit would continue.
Of course, reality had other plans.
Today, he had woken up early only to go through his morning routine and make himself presentable for work. Instead of hopping into his running clothes and enjoying the breeze, he had to become a proper office worker again.
