The Morning After

This was not predictable. I look at you as you look at me. Here we are, somehow. In my bed. Together.
Our nakedness allows full realization to flood into the room. What is predictable is that we cannot look at each other for long. You swing yourself urgently out of the bed and I pull the duvet up to cover more of my face “oh my god” I breathe.
“You congratulating me on my performance there?”
Your sarcasm is part of what drew me to you, what made me feel feisty, energised, ready to arm and empower myself against your wit. But you are grinning through gritted teeth.
“Please don’t be sarcastic.” I mutter.
“Sure. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and all that. But with wit being the lowest form of intelligence, I’m happy with being sarcastic.” You wink.
This is the point at which I remember you are a bit of a wanker. A bit too sarcastic. I’m not sure I really like you at all. So the whole event of last night is even more hideous. I don’t even want to talk to you anymore and I slide further under the duvet to demonstrate that quite clearly. To show you I want you to leave me, return to your important bar and carry on being the cool kid in the hat who everyone can admire from afar. You can leave me here, with my duvet, my thoughts and, as soon as you’re gone, an indulgent cry at my own lack of self respect.
“Don’t hide”.
Why are you still here? I grimace from behind the purple flowers on my duvet cover, intensely aware of my crazy hair and morning breath. I’m definitely less attractive in the morning even without 2 bottles of wine the night before.
“I’m not hiding” (if in doubt, defend).
You aren’t even looking in my direction and yet you seem to think its ok to attempt light hearted chit-chat “You feeling hungover?”
Your voice is soft and as you turn towards me I can see that your eyes are kind. Oh my god, go away.
“Um, maybe a little. You?”
If you’re going to be nice to me I have no choice other than to be nice back. To at least communicate.
“Sort of. But I’m ok.”
You don’t move from the seat you’ve made on the edge of the bed, the one that is so close you will definitely be able to smell my bad breath. You light a cigarette. Post coital. How quaint.
“Err; you can’t smoke in my bedroom Dean”
“Sure. Sorry.”
You are still sitting. Still close to me. Why? What more can you possibly want from me?
“Don’t worry”
Uh oh I’m going to justify myself -
“I won’t come in for a while. This doesn’t have to be anything. Too much wine, a laugh. No better option. I’m not expecting anything.”
I wish I didn’t always put myself down. Really I do. I started so well with the confidence; I got you here didn’t I? Got you in my bed. Yet here we are, the morning after and I am naked in all senses. Undressed by my own lack of self -belief.
Your silence is not helpful. Please say something, anything. Or leave, you must have work to do.
My last thought must have come out loud and you stand up. You’ve realised I don’t need consoling. I don’t need ‘the chat’. We’re both satisfied and now you are free to leave.
“Don’t forget your hat”
I can’t help chuckling and I feel like a silly little girl, but the hat itself must have memories of the night. It is kind of funny.
“Can I smoke out of your window at least?”
You don’t even look at me when you ask. How rude!
“Um, not really. It’s cold and the smoke will all come back in anyway. I’d rather you didn’t.”
If you really need to smoke so badly why the hell don’t you just leave? Smoke your little heart out in your own flat.
“Right, well I had better be going”.
Funny that, exactly what I want to happen and yet when it’s your suggestion the sense of abandonment is huge and thuds down into the pit of my stomach. I’m ready for that cry now.
“Mmm”.
There isn’t a lot else I can say is there? Maybe I should thank you? Tell you I’ll see you around? I don’t want you to think I am in any way affected by this.
But you know I am because you understand people very well. This is a dangerous attribute and one that I know you use to your advantage. Yet I can’t seem to help being sucked in by it. Captivated by your mysterious arrogance.
“Don’t be shy Tor”.
You’ve moved close to me again; taken hold of my hand. You patronising fucker.
“I won’t be shy” I lie. Then I shake my hand free and clarify.
“I told you, it’s nothing. I’m well aware. Just sex, no strings. You’re quite safe.”
I say it clearly, meaningfully and I’m impressed with myself for the first time since I woke up.
“It was fun”.
Your voice is soft and I know why. You’re pretending you’re sorry that you might have hurt me. You know how to handle the desperate girl you leave in bed. You are gentle and you let her down kindly. You reassure her that it was fun! But I am not desperate. How can I reassure you of that? I’m mostly sure myself that it’s true.
Your hat is still perched on the bookshelf behind you like an audience; poised and waiting for my response. I feel like I could be tripping out.
“Yeah. It was. Fun.”
Now it’s almost easy to sound cool. I want you to leave so I can at least go and have a wee. The wine has poisoned my bladder and I am in actual agony. Then I want to wallow a little bit. I want to wish for something more, wish you wanted more and I’ll cry because I’m hungover. Cry because I let it happen. Then I will watch some bad t.v and eat some nice chocolates. After today I will be able to move this experience into the distant drawer in my memory. I will actually be ok. I just need today off from being ok.
“Thanks”.
You have created a compliment from my words and you move across to drop a kiss on my forehead.
“You’ll come in soon?”
I honestly can’t work out the tone of your question. Maybe you do mean it, maybe you would be happy to see me in your bar again soon. I suppose you’ve had enough girls that have continued to come and watch you work. Watch you fall prey to the next victim of lust. It’s probably a scenario you are genuinely comfortable with. I suppose it keeps your pretty little ego afloat. Perhaps I could be quite comfortable with it too. I could continue to enjoy the view of you as I sip my deadly wine. Catch your eye and then not know what to do about the flip in my tummy, the rouge that immediately flushes my cheeks.
But I’m not entirely comfortable with that. For me, there will always be this. I am not the calmness that I wear on the outside and I am sure you know that as well. Especially now I’ve been so exposed to you.
So what are you doing right now other than being weirdly polite?
Sod it, I’ll test the water a bit more, it’ll delay your easy exit but that is fine.
“Probably not that soon, no. It would feel weird. But maybe I will at some point. I’ll give you a wave if I do.”
The wave bit was too much. It sounded desperate. It sounded like I will expect you to acknowledge me again. Like this was special.
“Right. Come in soon, ok?”
You take your hat, twist it onto your head and walk out of the door. Just like the cowboy that you are.