I reach for the phone under my pillow after opening one eye and hit the button to turn on the screen so I can look at the time, 9:27, and then smoothly swing my left leg around the other side of the bed to see if anybody is there but nothing, just bunched up sheets. I reach my arm across and pat around, instinctively sit up straight and look over, think for a few seconds. What the hell is going on?
I walk to the bathroom and take a piss without lifting the seat, spray drops of pale, translucent yellow all over the damned thing and stand for a few moments staring at it. The taste in my mouth is disgusting but I don't brush my teeth. Cigarettes? Maybe a cigar. Tequila. Bodily fluids. No vomit.
You scream in your sleep, I hear her voice say to me from the hallway beside me and I turn, boxer shorts pulled down around my thighs and nothing else on but I don't react just look. She's holding a mug of coffee and wearing only my bathrobe which is conveniently untied, her nakedness just visible through the revealing V shape where the bathrobe doesn't cover and I feel good about having the privilege of laying my bloodshot, blurry eyes on it in the sobering daylight. I think about making a sarcastic comment about her making herself at home but decide against it as I'm not entirely sure what her maximum level of tolerable abuse is before she blows that harpie, woman scorned gasket they all seem to have. Not to mention i'm not really in the mood yet for a cup of hot coffee to the face. She notices the toilet seat and turning, walking towards the kitchen says something about me being a crack shot.
I walk back into the bedroom to put on a pair of jeans I find bunched up and sticking out from underneath the bed and then follow her into the kitchen but she isn't there and it takes me a couple of moments, after opening the cabinet to retrieve a mug for myself, pouring some coffee from the pot she made and having a sip, before I realize that something is terribly wrong. The door is open a crack and I peak out into the hallway, look down toward the neighbors door and see nothing but a pair of sneakers sitting on the ground. I pull my head back in and look at the hook beside the door where I hang my keys but it's empty and nervous, scampering, spilling coffee on my hand as I toss the mug on the counter, I head to the window overlooking the back parking lot in my bedroom where I see, five stories below, my car pulling out into traffic just as my bathrobe gets tossed from the drivers side window onto the asphalt.
I walk to the bathroom and take a piss without lifting the seat, spray drops of pale, translucent yellow all over the damned thing and stand for a few moments staring at it. The taste in my mouth is disgusting but I don't brush my teeth. Cigarettes? Maybe a cigar. Tequila. Bodily fluids. No vomit.
You scream in your sleep, I hear her voice say to me from the hallway beside me and I turn, boxer shorts pulled down around my thighs and nothing else on but I don't react just look. She's holding a mug of coffee and wearing only my bathrobe which is conveniently untied, her nakedness just visible through the revealing V shape where the bathrobe doesn't cover and I feel good about having the privilege of laying my bloodshot, blurry eyes on it in the sobering daylight. I think about making a sarcastic comment about her making herself at home but decide against it as I'm not entirely sure what her maximum level of tolerable abuse is before she blows that harpie, woman scorned gasket they all seem to have. Not to mention i'm not really in the mood yet for a cup of hot coffee to the face. She notices the toilet seat and turning, walking towards the kitchen says something about me being a crack shot.
I walk back into the bedroom to put on a pair of jeans I find bunched up and sticking out from underneath the bed and then follow her into the kitchen but she isn't there and it takes me a couple of moments, after opening the cabinet to retrieve a mug for myself, pouring some coffee from the pot she made and having a sip, before I realize that something is terribly wrong. The door is open a crack and I peak out into the hallway, look down toward the neighbors door and see nothing but a pair of sneakers sitting on the ground. I pull my head back in and look at the hook beside the door where I hang my keys but it's empty and nervous, scampering, spilling coffee on my hand as I toss the mug on the counter, I head to the window overlooking the back parking lot in my bedroom where I see, five stories below, my car pulling out into traffic just as my bathrobe gets tossed from the drivers side window onto the asphalt.
