Monday morning. My head pounded and the sunlight dancing in through the airy drapes over the open window was far too bright. It had to be about noon. But I wasn't surprised, I always sleep late after a night of heavy drinking. I yawned and reached for the little glass of water on the nightstand. I took a tiny sip and immediately spat it out. Drunk me is a fucking asshole I thought to myself as tried to get the taste of vodka out of my mouth. Then I had another horrible thought.
I liked to go out on the weekends and have fun, and I generally got hammered. I knew I was typically a trickster when I was drinking and often fell for tricks drunk me had set up for sober me. But I also knew drunk me was a slut. I never left alone after a night of partying. I held my breath and rolled over, hoping to find an empty bed. Unfortunately I was not so lucky.
Having gone through this awkward morning-after experience one too many times, I knew the drill. I generally tried to avoid going for round 2 with the previous night's conquest, and had a set game plan to get the guy out of the bed and onto the street. Step 1: roll over lazily and cuddle into the crook of his arm, or spoon with him if he had rolled over. This guy was on his side so I ended up wrapping an arm around his waist and curling into the back of him. This generally wakes the guy up. However this time was different. I couldn't advance to step 2 without him being awake, so I gently prodded at him. While doing this I couldn't help but notice how his skin felt; it was cool yet there was a definite warmth that felt more like it was from the sun shining on him than his own body heat. His bicep was solid, but not so muscular as just rigid. He still hadn't woken up. I took hold of his shoulder and lightly shook him, eventually rolling him onto his back. Big mistake.
I gasped, and consequently choked on the air trying to enter my locked lungs. In order to take in the whole scene before me I had to analyze it bit by bit. His hair was messy and he had a large, full beard. His chestnut eyes were slightly hooded but still open, and looked glazed over and empty. His thin lips were slightly parted between his beard. I could see the lower lip was split and he had bruising around his left temple. He was shirtless and his torso was muscular and lean and his arms and shoulders were well tatted. I noticed long scratch marks running from his left shoulder down his pec. Looking down, I examined my long nails. One was broken, the others had skin under the nail. The knuckles were bruised and bloody. I turned back to him, my pulse racing. How I wanted to help him, to call 911, but something told me it was too late. Well not something really but the knife handle sticking out of his still chest and the blood drenching the white sheets.
I softly climbed out of bed and slunk across the hotel room to where my clothes lay on the floor, alongside a plaid shirt that wasn't mine and an open condom wrapper. I got dressed quickly and quietly, not wanting to disturb the stillness. On the dresser I found my purse and noticed my lanyard wasn't in it. After scoping out the room I found it sitting on the chair by the front door. All 5 keys were there, along with my FTR ID. I checked my hair in the full length mirror and noticed blood in my black hair from where it appeared the man had struck back. Sighing, I pulled on my blue beanie and crept out of the room, leaving the door shut and locked for when the FTR guys came through for staging. After all it had to look like a prostitute had murdered my target, not the government. The things I do for my job I smirked to myself on the way out of the lobby, but that's what I had signed myself over to when I decided to work for the Federal Threat Removal branch.