There is something hanging over my eyes, long and spindly. Before I can realize it is my own eyelashes, I have reached up and slapped myself in the face.
That shit is gonna leave a mark.
My eyes are open now, I think, but I am not sure because the room is completely black. I lay there a minute, waiting for my eyes to adjust and slowly, a headache creeps up around my temples.
I am confused. The room is coming into shape, slowly, fuzzily, but it's coming. I don't recognize a thing. I roll over to my side and a swift wave of heat crashes over my head and drips down to my toes. I lie back down, trying to be perfectly still so I don't throw up.
It's around this time, as I put my hand to my chest to wipe the damp sweat that has pooled there, that I realize that I'm naked.
I need to look around, but the last time I lifted my head didn't go so well. I start with just my eyes, slowly dragging the details of the room, slowly waking fully up to new waves of nausea. I feel like that Outkast skit...
"Where... where... where are my panties?"
Next to me something exhales sharply and before I know it I have let out a yelp and flipped myself backwards off the bed. OhmyGod, my head. It is cooler on the floor but I still feel sick, and now someone is spinning the room in circles. And of course there is still some unidentified sighing object above my head.
I place just my fingertips over the edge of the bed, pulling myself up slowly to peek and see who it is, trying mightily to steady myself just in case I have to fight my way out of there.
My eyes fully adjusted now can make out the form of a naked man lying there, tangled in the covers. He's sleeping hard, on his back, one arm flung out into the space I have just vacated during my super secret spy roll out of the bed. Starting at his head, I try to focus on the details of him, try to place together some of what got me here. I take in the form, the tattoos, the slight slope of his stomach and the more than abundant bulge beneath the slanted chocolate sheets.
What the fuck did I do?
I am awake. And in flight mode. I'm gathering up scraps of clothing from everywhere; purple lace panties are on the edge of the bed; my bra is on the dresser, pants outside the door.
Damn girl, you couldn't even make it inside the room good before you lost your pants? Jesus.
I am jumping up and down on one foot, cursing the name of the Patron Saint Patron when I hear my name from directly behind me-
"La are you ok?"
-and I fall directly on my face.
He is behind me, smiling down at me and offering a hand, slightly bemused and a bit unsteady on his feet himself.
"Are you leaving?" he asks me, a tad bit hopeful.
"Yeah I am. I have to work in the morning."
Or at least I think I do. It is Thursday, right?
I find my shoes (one under the bed, one in the closet) and hold on to him while I put them on. He walks me to the door still naked, turning me before I can make my escape, kissing me full on the lips.
"See you later."
I smile in response without a word, stepping backwards out of the doorway, and turning as sharply on my heel as being still slightly drunk will allow. I stumble a bit as I walk the few steps to my car, grateful that he has closed the door by this point. Before I can make it to the curb however, I fall off my favorite pair of BCBG pumps and head first into the bushes.
This cannot be life.
I am sick and stumbling, now scratched up from the bushes, and feeling the initial effects of sex soreness. I know that if I want to make it home, which is all the way across town, I need to get it together. I lean against the car for a minute, appreciating the slight breeze, and hoping that no one comes and robs the semi drunk girl standing at her car in the middle of the night on a strange street.
My daddy would be so proud.
I finally get in the driver's side, cranking the car and turning on the air full blast. I sigh as my head hits the steering wheel.
Wtf have I done?
(to be continued...)