Morning After 2

Once again I want to thank Angel_Love for her editing assistance.

I sit naked on the side of the bed, elbows on my knees, chin in my hand. I've done it again. I swore I wouldn't. But my need trumped my oath. My head hurts and I have cotton mouth. I feel disoriented.

Behind me on the bed I hear her snoring softly. What was her name? Did she ever tell me? I look around her loft and try to visually sort out my clothes from hers and the still damp towels on the floor. I notice there are CD cases in the floor mix. Yeah, now I vaguely remember looking for music that fit the mood.

What was the mood? Maybe that's why we had trouble finding the right music. I don't remember listening to any.

I rose quietly to not waken her, as a courtesy to her I told myself. But I knew the real reason was to avoid facing her. I wanted this to be over. I began sorting my clothes from the piles on the floor. I found them all except my boxers. Then I saw them peeping out from beneath a damp towel. I pulled them out and sure enough, they were wet.

"Shit!" I whispered to myself.

Taking my clothes into the bathroom I feel the stickiness on the floor from our reciprocal golden showers. I try to deny my certain knowledge that this had been an unspoken agreement between us to atone for our self-hate. Laying my clothes on her dressing table and chucking my wet boxers in the small trash on top of the tissues, q-tips, and toilet paper wrapped sanitary napkins, I look into the mirror. I see the emptiness in my eyes I've seen too often lately. I've had too many of these mornings. This will be my last I say to myself, but I know better.

During the day I'm fine. But as night comes, the memory of Alison and a crushing loneliness sets in. I try to ignore it but it increases with every passing minute.

Last night I had looked out my apartment window at the club across the street. The lights were garish and carnival-like giving it a surreal and ugly look. But I was drawn to it. I told myself that I will only have a drink or maybe even a few and then come home. I knew I was lying but I pushed that knowledge deep into my psyche, put on my coat and went across the street.

I entered the realm of the beautiful people having fun. Everyone was laughing and having a good time and drinking and dancing and having a good time and talking and loving and having a good time. I tried to immerse myself into the mood. I sat at the bar and watched and waited for the good feelings to enter me. I knew they wouldn't and I was right.

Then I saw her. She was dancing. She was beautiful, she was laughing. But her eyes were dark and unfeeling. I knew that look. I've seen it in the mirror many times. She saw me staring and smiled a mouth-only smile. I returned it. I knew we would leave together. It was inevitable. I wondered who her Alison was and if he was as wonderful.

The song ended and she returned to her table. She was alone also. She looked at me and smiled again, the same surface only smile. I moved in on my prey, or was I hers? It didn't matter as long as a capture was made. I sat down and we started talking the bullshit of the club scene.

Finally, when it became obvious that neither of us could stand it any more, I said, "We both know we're gonna leave here together so why don't we cut to the chase and just do it."

"Okay," was all she said.

We stood, left the club and caught a cab. We sang the last song that we heard at the club all the way to her loft in the cab, pretending we were having fun. Once inside her door we exploded into a frenetic grope of one another, kissing hard, grabbing for buttons, zippers, snaps, clasps... anything standing in the way of nakedness. If we did this we wouldn't have to talk and find out that we might not like each other, or admit to ourselves and each other why we were doing this. Then what would we do?

She was a good fuck. Actually she was a great fuck, totally uninhibited. So was I. When you don't care what somebody thinks of you it's easy to take risks with your inhibitions. You do and try things you'd never dream of doing or trying if you were with somebody you cared about. We were both hoping for rejection, I'm sure, but afraid of it as well. So we fucked and sucked hard with hurt and anger, trying to hurt ourselves and each other. We pissed on each other and called each other unmentionable names. We couldn't stop until we were totally exhausted and couldn't avoid sleep any more. Asleep we didn't have to talk.

I splash cold water in my face, jarring myself back to the present. I look into the mirror again and wonder if the hollowness inside me shows from the outside. I can't tell for sure. I run my wet hands through my hair and call it combed.

Taking my clothes and leaving the bathroom, I sit in a chair to dress. She is no longer snoring and I wonder if she is awake. I look. The sheet only comes to her stomach and her breasts are rising and falling rhythmically. Her eyes are closed but I wonder if she is feigning sleep. I'm sure she wants to avoid me this morning as much as I want to avoid her. So I finish dressing and stand. Taking out a business card, I write on the back. "Call me if you like" and place it on my pillow. I know she won't. I hope she won't. None of the other ones have. But it's the gentlemanly thing to do.

I let myself out quietly, take the elevator to the first floor and walk out into the gray early morning. A cold mist is falling. There are no cabs in this part of Manhattan at this time of morning. I turn up my collar, shove my hands into my pockets, duck my head, and begin walking... to nowhere.