What it Feels Like

I blinked twice. Realized I'd passed out on my lover's couch. I remembered the conversation. Why am I even with you? His words cut like a knife, each sentence passed so angrily. Words were slurred, on both sides, two empty wine bottles on the ground. I blinked again in the darkness of his Bohemian apartment. The ashes of tonight's mistakes lay in circles on the table-we'd smoked without limits, with reckless abandon, and we'd certainly pay for it.

I strained my eyes to read the clock on the VCR. It was only 2am. The bars had just closed. It was early. I sat up, my head felt heavy. My lover must have been asleep in his bedroom. I think it had only been about half an hour since we fought. It was all a bit hazy.

"Oh, hey," his roommate said as he opened the door. I snapped back into the present, suddenly aware that I was wearing a very sheer nightgown. My hair was tossed wildly around my face, and I realized Nate probably knew at once that I was reasonably altered.

"Hi," I said softly. I watched his keys hit the table, watched as he pulled his messenger bag up and around his chest, tossed it on the chair to his right. He walked toward me, a look of genuine concern crossed his brow.

"Are you okay? Have you been crying?" he asked gently. I wondered what he must have been thinking. I wondered if he played out what might have happened in his mind in those few seconds before I answered.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," I said at last.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'm going to go to bed... do you want a blanket?"

"Wait," I said quickly. I stepped back a moment, too eager, I thought.

"What is it?" he said just as eagerly. It was as if he'd been hoping I'd have a reason to keep him there. We both struggled for a moment to find an excuse-we'd been struggling like this for the past six months.

"I just..." I couldn't think of a reasonable excuse. "I'm not ready to be alone yet."