Morning After The morning after was equal parts reality and fantasy, both vying for her attention, w

Morning After The morning after was equal parts reality and fantasy, both vying for her attention, waiting for her guard to drop before lulling her away from the other. The heavy lust of the night before was gone, replaced by a certain sort of disbelief that she couldn’t quite describe. It was a weight in her stomach while all she could feel was a sense of weightlessness.  He was sleeping in the other room. She’d slid out of bed without waking him, although that wasn’t really through any intention of her part. Mornings were quiet, and she was quiet along with them. The office was instantly homely and alien, dust hanging in the air just for effect. It was so him she wanted to smash it, destroy every last piece of it and just start all over.  Which was the fantasy kicking back in, some destructive urge that was a hangover from the night before. Drunk, fumbled, rushed sex, and more than a few blows to her backside from his more than accomplished hands. She’d known it was a bad idea, but when had good ideas been any fun? She debated leaving without waking him, grabbing a coffee and then pretending nothing had happened when she next saw him in a lecture. It would be easy enough, and he’d be sure to understand, even if it might take him a week or two to figure it out. But it would be cowardly, and more importantly it wasn’t what she wanted. She had been drunk going in, but now that she was sober, when morning’s half light was seeping in through the blinds, hot and out of focus, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Rules, of course, were in the way, but rules weren’t made to facilitate your own self enjoyment. They were there to protect people, and she had had enough of being protected. She wanted to dangle off the side of the bridge, just live in a moment where she had jumped, where she was falling and falling, for a moment.  It wasn’t a suicidal urge so  much as an urge for everything except the suicide. She didn’t want to die, but she wanted to live with that wonderful certainty that she had decided to do just that. Freedom through destruction, falling and falling and not giving two shits either way. She yawned and smiled, turning on her foot and heading back into the bedroom. Halfway between fantasy and reality, and just as fucked up as both. Mornings were weird, and they made her weirder. Too quiet. Too much space to think your own thoughts, and following the threads. -- source link

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