Morning Light

A Story by thecosmichorn

This is just the beginning of something I am playing with. I am open and receptive to any and all feedback.

I let the bright morning light in through a tiny, crusted crack between my eyelids and wait for my brain to piece things together. I don’t recognize these white walls. The stickiness of sweaty skin tangled in polyester feels vaguely familiar, like an old recurring dream. The hard edges of the springs digging into my shoulders feel like shackles, yet I do not struggle to free myself. I keep waiting for a wave of panic, sobriety, or realization to make my heart race, but I lay perfectly still, surveying the unfamiliar, sun-drenched room. I carefully lift my head to sit up, and I can feel every beat of my heart painfully pumping blood through my brain. Dizziness sets in, cold beads of sweat collect on my forehead, and it hits me. I am definitely hung over. This is the only thing I know for sure about today.

But then he places a hand on the small of my back, and his touch begs the night to reveal itself to me. It comes in waves, each memory rolling over me as I sink in soft sand at the edge of the sea. I remember walking into a crowded room filled with people I’d never met, avoiding glances and wishing I could melt into the carpet. I remember being whisked around the room, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, forgetting names, and sipping wine. I remember inventing excuses to slip out, thinking I could never be the bubbly, outspoken, socially graceful hostess that Kate is. I remember thinking the whole night was just a big mistake. But most of all, I remember the moment I reached for my coat.

It was that moment we locked eyes, and I froze feeling the heat of uneasiness spread quickly through my cheeks and chest. I quickly shrugged my coat over my shoulders and hurried out the door.

The rest is a blur of cigarettes, laughter, fireworks and wine.

He slides his fingers up my spine and my heart tugs at the memory of the night we spent together. He pulls me toward him, enveloping my mouth in the warmth of his lips, and I ache with desire. I am wrapped in velvet, bathed in cream, falling upward to fly through the stars. Every touch feels so new, and yet so comfortable and I turn to face him, finally opening both eyes wide to take in this moment, this morning, and everything it means.

He is staring at me intensely, as though he has been doing so all night, and before I can even make sense of everything that has happened, his first words to me are, “I think I’m in love with you.”