Morning after
884 Words
The sunlight was cruel.
It stabbed through the cheap, thin curtains and right into my skull, sending a spike of pain through my head that made me groan and roll over — too fast. My stomach twisted, my mouth dry as sandpaper, and every inch of me ached like I’d been hit by a truck.
Or maybe… like I’d been pinned against a wall and kissed until I forgot my own name.
My heart lurched.
I sat up so fast the room spun. I grabbed my head, blinking hard as everything came back in a rush.
The bar. The dancing. Him.
That kiss. That touch. The way he’d growled that I was his like it was some kind of vow. My body still felt hot just thinking about it, even as my stomach churned with something colder.
I blinked again and looked around. The small, cheap motel room was empty.
Completely empty.
The spot beside me on the bed was cold. No sign of him. No clothes left behind. No note. Nothing.
It was like he’d never been here at all.
My throat tightened. I shoved off the scratchy sheets and stood on shaky legs, wincing at the throb in my head. My heels were on the floor in a careless pile. My dress — wrinkled and twisted — lay draped over the chair.
But him? Gone.
I stumbled into the tiny bathroom, flipped on the light, and caught sight of myself in the cracked mirror.
My makeup was smudged, mascara streaked under my eyes, lips swollen and raw-looking. There were dark marks blooming on my throat and collarbone — his marks. Proof that it hadn’t been a dream.
Shame burned through me, hot and choking.
What the hell had I done?
I splashed water on my face, trying to scrub away the guilt, the memories, but it clung to me like a second skin. My stomach heaved, and I barely made it to the toilet before I was sick, everything from last night hitting me in one awful wave.
When I was finally empty and shaking, I slumped back against the wall, my breath ragged.
No name. No number. No clue who he even was.
Just the ghost of his hands on my skin and the echo of his voice growling that I was his.
God.
I couldn’t even look at myself as I threw on my dress again and grabbed my phone — dead, of course. No charger. No messages. No lifeline.
By the time I stumbled out of the motel and into the harsh morning light, I felt like a shell of myself. My head pounded with every step, my stomach still queasy, and I could barely look the woman at the front desk in the eye as I handed over the key.
Her knowing smirk made my cheeks burn.
Luca was waiting for me at the corner cafe, already halfway through an iced coffee that was sweating on the table. He spotted me and did a double take.
“Girl,” he hissed as I slid into the chair across from him, sunglasses on even though we were in the shade. “You look wrecked.”
I let my head fall into my hands. “Don’t. Please.”
Luca leaned in, his voice dropping. “Okay, but I need to know — did you get laid last night? Because you disappeared and I was about to call the cops or, like, your mom.”
I groaned. “Luca—”
His eyes widened. “You did. Oh my God. Tell me everything—”
“I don’t remember everything,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. My voice cracked, raw from last night. “And I don’t even know his name. He’s gone. Just… gone.”
Luca’s face softened. “s**t, babe. I thought we were just gonna dance and have fun. I didn’t think you’d—”
“Neither did I,” I mumbled, rubbing my temples. “It just… happened. And now I feel like crap. Physically and… everything-ly.”
Luca reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Okay, first — hydration. Then greasy food. Then we can spiral about the mystery man later.”
I let out a weak laugh, even though my stomach was still twisted up in knots.
An hour later, I was clocking in for my shift at the cafe, my apron feeling like a noose around my neck. The smell of coffee and sugar that I usually loved made my stomach roll.
The bell above the door jingled as the morning rush started to trickle in. I forced a smile, even though all I wanted was to crawl into bed and disappear.
My boss barked at me to restock the pastries. I nodded numbly, my body moving on autopilot as I arranged muffins and croissants behind the glass.
All while the back of my mind spun like a storm.
No name. No number. No clue who he was.
Only the memory of golden eyes gone dark, the feel of his hands, and the way he’d kissed me like I belonged to him.
And no matter how much I tried to shove it down, that part of me — the one that still ached for him — wouldn’t let me forget.
- Writer
