I woke when the sunlight was too unbearable - seeping through my eyelids and burning my pupils slowly. The light scent of vanilla filled my nose as I began to be completely aware of where I was.
I was not in my own house.
The sheets felt cleaner and softer than my own; the bed larger and the mattress thicker. Each of my individual pores felt the crispness of the linen sheets and exhaled like they had finally found where they truly belong. I mustered up the courage to open my eyes since all of my other senses were awake and active. Slowly, like an egg, I cracked my eyelids open like the shell and my vision seeped through like the yolk. I was not disappointed in what I saw. After a few weak blinks, the room became clear; a dark brown ceiling fan stared down at me from about 15 feet. The only light source flooded in through a massive wall-sized window that had pillow coverings furiously pinned to the tops and sides - desperately trying to block the sunlight that was steadily streaming through.
I looked around the room, wondering if it was hers. The dark wooded floor was littered with articles of clothing - not all mine, not all hers (but from what I could tell, she had a pretty extensive shoe collection). There were bookshelves, which seemed to hold hundreds of books, whether they be fiction, nonfiction, historical-fiction, science-fiction, informational, or humorous. A small green vinyl record player sat in the corner with a stack of records piled next to it. From what I could see, the albums ranged from Bon Iver to Two-Door Cinema Club to Arctic Monkeys. The last thing that I noticed was in no way the least; for both small and large artwork hung on the walls without windows. The art was nearly as breathtaking as she was (at least, as I remember her to be) - care and precision was laced in every stroke, every line that was made.
"Wow," I thought to myself. "I've finally fucked someone out of my league..." A small, crooked grin erupted on my face as I dragged the cool sheets off of my lower body. My bare feet touched the frozen floor and I cringed as I tried to make an effort to get up and out of this perfect girl's hair.
I located my dark blue boxers and tugged them on, wincing at the agonizing pain in my quads and abs. I hadn't had sex in a long time. I was out of the game.
There were two doors that led out of the room. One was on the right, closest to the window, and the other on the left. Both doors looked exactly the same.
"Okay..." I said aloud, clapping my hands together. "Let's play a game."
It turns out the one on the right led to the bathroom. I inspected my body inch by meticulous inch, wondering why a girl like her could go for a guy like me. Then I noticed some things: my blue and black hair seemed even more thin than usual, and my chest had dark purple marks all over. Oh, and not to mention the thick red welts all over my back.
I left the bathroom and walked through the other door and down the hallway in hopes of finding her. My fingertips glided along the silky grey walls, seeking out ruffles and dents that might make them imperfect. As I felt over each bump, I envisioned each position we were in as we created them. The first was with her sharp shoulder blade as I slammed her into the side of the hall - kissing and groping her like there was no tomorrow.
"What are you doing..." a hushed voice said condescendingly as I neared the end of the corridor. I stopped in my tracks and pressed my back against the wall, careful not to make a sound as I listened in on their conversation.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. It was her - I knew it. I could recognize that soft raspy voice anywhere.
I heard a clatter of porcelain things, like plates or mugs, before the second voice responded, "Don't play coy with me, Michaela... You know exactly what you're doing - and it's not going to work," I had no idea what they were talking about, but the owner of the first voice was clearly furious about it. The only reason why she wasn't yelling was probably because they both assumed I was still sleeping.
