Aftertaste

She came awake by degrees, like a diver rising through the murk. The first thing she noticed was a crushing headache, followed by the sound of running water. The bathroom shower. Someone was taking a shower in her bathroom. For several moments, she lay still, afraid to move for fear of the pain it would bring to her head. She summoned her courage and rolled over to look at her clock. The movement caused her brain to smash against the side of her skull, and she had to close her eyes for a moment. 

It was 8:49 in the morning. Sunday, she remembered, which meant she didn’t have to go to work, thank God. There were two half-empty beer bottles on the table by the clock. The sight made her conscious of the taste in her mouth. An acrid mix of beer and pot and maybe something else she didn’t want to think about. The memory of the night before came crashing in. The drinking, the kissing, the erosion of her will. And now he violated her shower.

She forced herself into a sitting position, sending her brain on another collision course with her skull, and surveyed the room. A mix of his and her clothing littered the floor. The candle on her dresser had burned down to a nub, blackening the label of another beer bottle. A wave of regret and self-loathing washed over her, battling her headache for supremacy. She closed her eyes and tried not to think.

From the bathroom, the sound of the shower ceased. She heard the shower rings scrape. He was getting out, drying himself off. It wouldn’t be long before he emerged and returned to where they had lain together. She could not bear the thought of facing him. Get the hell out of my apartment. She eased herself back down into bed and rolled on her side, waiting.

The bathroom door banged open and she closed her eyes. She heard his footsteps coming down the hallway. He entered the room and stopped, and she was certain he stood staring at her. She kept her eyes shut. After a moment, he began moving again. She felt him sit on the side of the bed. He was putting his socks on. He stood and she heard him dressing. He coughed lightly, and she recognized it as an attempt to wake her. He sat back down, and it occurred to her that he might speak. She would have no choice then. She felt him lean in close, heard his breathing. Surely he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Go away, go away, go away.

After an eternity, he got up and walked from the room. Relief flooded through her. She heard him go into the living room and waited for the sound of the front door to open and close. Instead, there were muffled footsteps, the sound of her desk drawer opening and closing. What the hell was he doing? He was looking for something. Was he trying to rob her? There was no way she could stand for that. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, because her anger would be justified. 

There was a silence for a few moments, and then she heard him going into the kitchen, opening cabinets. What the hell? Water ran from the sink, then stopped. More cabinets opening, closing. Then footsteps again, coming down the hall to her room.

He entered and stopped. A moment later, she heard him put something on the bedside table, and then he sat down on the bed again. She lay still, steeling herself. He leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. If she opened her eyes now, she would be staring right into his face. He was inches away. A sudden impulse to open her eyes came over her and she fought it. She resisted the urge to counter the impulse by squeezing her eyes shut. Don’t open them, don’t squeeze them shut. Just lay there and hope the bastard goes away soon. His breath reeked of beer and cigarettes. She thought she might scream. How long could she stand to lay there like this?

Then she felt him move away, getting off the bed. He stood for a few seconds, and then turned and walked out, footsteps receding down the hallway. Please let it be for real this time. She heard the front door open and close a moment later. Finally, he was gone.

For a moment, she was afraid to open her eyes, afraid it would bring him back. Silly, stupid thought. She opened her eyes and sat up. He had placed a glass of water and two Advil on the table, along with a folded note. She picked it up and read.

Dear Alison,

Thank you for a wonderful evening. It might sound cheesy but I think last night was the best night of my life. I hope it was for you as well. I know we haven’t known each other long but I feel like this could be the start of something really special. You are an amazing girl and in case you didn’t notice, I’m pretty crazy about you. You looked so beautiful lying there this morning that I couldn’t wake you, as much as I wanted to. I will count the minutes until we can talk again. I have things to do today but I should be done sometime this afternoon. I will call you when I get home. I left you some ibuprofen because if you’re like me, you probably have a bit of a headache. Totally worth it! I hope you have a wonderful day and I will talk to you soon.

Love,

Will

She leaned her head against the headboard and closed her eyes. This is what you get, dumb-ass. This is just what you deserve. After a moment, she re-read the letter, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it on the floor. Thirst sucked at her and she washed down the Advil with the entire glass of water. There was nothing else to do until the afternoon. Try to go back to sleep until the headache went away. She knew she had to figure this out but not yet, not until she could think straight. Sleep a couple more hours and then get up and take a shower and have some coffee. That was the plan. She eased herself back down into the blanket and closed her eyes and willed herself not to think. There would be plenty of time for that when she got up.