another kind of morning sickness

she wakes, shivering, to the sterile, green light of an unfamiliar alarm clock.
dawn hasn’t settled in yet, but she yearns for it, nevertheless; looking through the fogged-up windows, illuminated by the streetlights below.
deep breathing to her left makes her aware of  her shame; too much to drink and a fleeting moment of weakness. she curses under her breath.

how could this happen again?

his hairy arm wrapped around her middle, fingertips resting lightly on her stomach, lock her in place. she longs to jump up, escape the tangled sheets smelling faintly of perfume, beer and cold cigarette smoke; but the heavy weight of her personal shame’s presence keeps her immobile.

tricky. trapped.

she dares not to look at the source of the breathing, but keeps her eyes firmly locked on the puke-green digits, slowly shifting, bringing her closer to much desired solitude.
time, she is familiar with. as painfully slow as it passes, time, she knows.
she would stay.
she would stay and endure him waking; the awkward small talk, maybe a cup of  black coffee and an egg or two. if he would care to offer.
she would stay, endure.

what’s his name again?

she would endure. embrace the painful punishment for yet another mistake.
innocent? no.

but maybe necessary.

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