The luminous digital bedside clock says 01:00. I know, because I'm wide away nursing my right cheek bone with ice. That's going to be one heck of a bruise, I think to myself. Without making a sound, I turn around and glare at the culprit. He's sprawled on his back, his arms folded behind his head as if he's lying on beach chair in Hawaii. His legs are still twitching, probably an after-shock from the encounter from my now bruised cheek.