The morning came earlier than I expected. A few short hours for everything to come undone.
Stark light blinds as it reveals. I know only the now, and now, I know I cannot stay here. I have to be away, far away from what lies beside me, this flesh that carried promise, once, and pleasure, lying leaden upon these unfamiliar sheets.
I do not know where I am, exactly. I do not know exactly where I can go.
The weight shifts, scattering heaviness, lazily threatening to pull me down again. “Are you awake,” he says, flatly.
It’s not quite a question. I do not give an answer.