The Morning After

“God” – was all she could think to herself as she fought to open her tired eyes – “How much did I drink last night?”

Her lids felt heavy and couldn’t seem to work together. She half opened her right eyes as her left one kept blinking incessantly, more sensitive to the dim light of the strange room, a low yellow light that seemed to flicker with an annoying fizzing sound, just as those electrical bug traps did in the summer whenever some unaware fly would go straight into it.

She tried to lift her head, but it ached to much she rested her neck muscles and left herself fall back into original position, expecting a pillow but hitting a hard surface that did not improve the hangover that was creeping into her entire being.

“Where the hell am I? I hate when this happens! God, I hope whoever I fucked last night isn’t some weird creep.” – she thought to herself in dread.

Finally adjusting to the darkness, she looked at both her sides searching for some unsuspected naked stranger, but there was no one to be found.

“Great! Just great! I hope I can open the front door without him, I’m not sitting through breakfast with some dude whose name I don’t know. Been there, done that, not happening again!”

Her legs felt numb and cold. She knew she was naked because she could feel the hairs on her body sticking up, almost shivering with the cold. She wiggled her toes and felt on of her feet ache with cramps.

“I shouldn’t have worn heels to go dancing, I never get away with that.”- but then it crossed her mind that she had actually worn a flat pair of boots that night.

She pried her upper body, sitting on the hard surfaced bed with enormous difficulty.

“Where the hell is my stuff?” – She looked around and couldn’t find a single sign of her clothes or purse. She just wanted to get a fucking cab and get the hell out of that place before this guy, whoever he was, returned and forced her into some awkward small talk. There was no sign of him anywhere either.

She looked around, confused. Maybe he had left early, or maybe he was in the bathroom. The bathroom! That seemed a likely place to have left her clothing during a drunken hookup. Without even a sheet to cover herself, she stood on her sore feet and got up, losing balance and realizing she ached much more than she believed to at first. She leaned against the wall, looking around for a door, to which she located two. The furthest one was closed while the nearest one was only ajar, and she believed she could see tiles through the small opening, so she dragged herself in that direction. Her feet did not seem to respond properly, frequently making her stumble over themselves on the way. She felt dizzy, lightheaded and her stomach seemed to be ready to hurl at any second. She tried to push herself to move faster, her focus so feeble she barely even registered the fact that only one of her feet still had its toes painted dark red.

It had seemed like an hour had gone by when she reached the doorway. Her lungs felt heavy, the right side enduring a stabbing pain. She leaned into the knob to regain her footing.

“Holy crap, this is the worse hangover of my life. I should really take it down a notch.” – Her head hardly even capable of finishing the train of thought as she pushed the door lightly, hoping that it wouldn’t screech on its hinges.

Glad to see the sink right in front of her, she immediately turned on the faucet, taking her hands to the cold stream and drinking from the cupped palms.

The cold water felt like blades down her windpipe. She choked, spitting into the basin and seeing droplets of dark, thick blood dancing in ripples with the clear running stream.

“Shit! Shit! Shit” – Her brain had one and only direction while she washed her face. She let the cold water fall from her face gently, enjoying the cooling sensation before she finally had the courage to face the mirror. And the face that looked back at her was not her own.

At least not all of it.



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