Morning reflections

Lena shifted slightly in the bed. She found his arm and pulled it over her, laying his hand on her stomach. He did not stir.

Her head already felt foggy and her tongue sat big, swollen and furry in her mouth. A fat caterpillar. The water glass was empty beside her. She could not remember drinking it.

She lifted her head to see if there was any forgotten bottles of water on her desk. Pain soared into her skull and dug into her eyes. She moaned and then remembered herself. Not wanting to quicken the approaching stilted morning conversation, she closed her eyes again and willed her headache to disappear.

Had the clock really said 5.40 am? Had they only been asleep an hour?

She prised her left eyelid open again and slowly moved her head round to face the clock. 5.42.
It would be hours before it was an acceptable time to wake him. And it would be even longer before the headache receded.

She wondered what she would tell this one? The trusty: "I'm just not ready for a relationship," or something more original? "My father's a mafia boss and he won't be happy to find out you've been messing with his only daughter."? Nah, too far fetched, plus he seems pretty nice really.

She turned her head and studied his face. Stubble was well established on his chin. She'd done quite well this time. A full mouth, nicely formed nose, good hair. He looked so...innocent.

His hand felt warm and heavy on her stomach. Too heavy, it was pressing on her full bladder. She could feel that pull in her stomach, that urgency. Now she was aware of it she couldn't think of anything else.

She pushed his arm away and turned on to her side.
He stirred and turned over, bringing his knee up to dig into her arse. Why, oh, why did she agree to have the room with the single bed?!

She had to get up. Had to, had to, HAD TO! She gingerly moved one foot out from under the covers. It was too early for the heating to be on yet.
Her dressing gown was hanging on the back of the door. This meant she had to take at least five or six steps across to it.

She dragged her torso up and waited for the pain to join her.

On the floor lay one of his socks, her thong and his shirt. Where were the rest of their clothes?
She swung her legs out and patted the floor hoping her slippers would still be in their usual place. Instead her feet found a pile of denim, his jeans. She stood up, the belt buckle cut into her foot.
"Oww ow ow!" she whispered to herself as she hopped across to the door, hoping he wouldn't wake up and see her naked body at its worst.

Finally she found sanctuary in the furry pink gown.

Her feet slapped on the bathroom lino.
The flush sounded like a tidal wave in her ears. She leant closer to the mirror. Her eyes were a wasteland of mascara gunk. Her skin looked awful. She had a sleep crease down her right cheek. Last nights perfectly formed ebony curls now were a dull fuzzy messy. She could look no longer, the floor had made her toes numb.

Crawling back into her bed she was pleased of his warmth. He was half awake, a sleepy smile lay on his face as he pulled her closer to him.

"You're wearing something," he mumbled, frowning.
"It's my dressing gown,"
He opened one eye and lifted the covers with his free hand.
"Mmm, sexy. But I think you should take it off," She giggled as he fumbled with the belt knotted around her waist.
"Were you a Scout or something?" He said as he pulled at the knot.
"Girl Guide actually," she said as she loosened the knot.

Her hangover had disappeared. Maybe she'd keep this one.