[Drabble]
When she woke in the morning, she was still nestled in against Mateo's chest, dressed in one of his t-shirts. She felt dry, the rancid taste of too much alcohol still fresh on her tongue, and knew that her eyeliner and mascara were in smudges and streaks down her cheeks, likely making her resemble Tim Burton's interpretation of a clown, or maybe Alice Cooper's misguided daughter. Mateo's face was buried in her hair, and she vaguely wondered how he could breathe like that before moving on to the more important thought of how she was going to slip out without waking him when he was still so wrapped around her like that.
She couldn't remember much of the night before except in flashes. An intense jab of loneliness motivating her to haunt the Optimist Creed show. Charming free drinks out of strangers and the bartender. Almost going home with one guy, until she realized he had a girlfriend. Feeling even more lonely and used. Mateo cornering her and making her laugh. Mateo carrying her home over his shoulder. Her admitting to missing him. Mateo admitting something about Greg. He loved Greg. Greg didn't love him.
From there, everything was a mess and a blur, more drinks and distractions, followed by a total memory blackout. Had they fucked? Or had they just slept together? How much had she drank? How much did he drink? Why had she agreed to come home with him in the first place? Why had he asked her to come home with him? He was their friend, and she wasn't one of them anymore.
He stirred slightly, and in a moment of dull pain and vague horror, she noticed her phone number and address on his arm. If Mateo knew, then they might know, and she wasn't ready for that. Licking her thumb to get what moisture she could, she carefully rubbed at the ink on his arm in slow circles, keeping her touch gentle and soothing so he wouldn't wake. After a few minutes, it was smudged and lightened enough to become unreadable, and she relaxed in his arms again.
It was stupid, sharing a bed with a friend. Sherry had learned that the hard way. Had sworn to herself it would never happen again. Not after all of that. She had made the no sleeping with friends rule for a reason, and in breaking it, karma had been sure to punish her as harshly as possible. And now here she was again, in the arms and bed of another friend. Even if they hadn't fucked, which she honestly wasn't sure of either way, it was still stupid to be there. Had she really gotten this lonely?
The answer was a resounding and hollow yes. She had. And in a fresh moment of weakness, anger, hurt, tears began to slip from between tightly laced lashes, and she hid in the crook of Mateo's arm. Nothing ever woke him, so it was safe to allow herself this small breakdown, this secret and quiet pity party where she could once again dwell on just how unfair it all was, while taking some comfort in the unconscious warmth of her one time friend's arms. Mateo was sweet and accepting, and she wouldn't burden him with her self-pity. Not when he had his own hurts to bare, and not when she knew she should be done with her own wounds.
He was sweet, and she wouldn't weigh him down. Wouldn't risk another letdown of her own was probably more like it. The question of whether it would be better to leave now, before he woke, or later, when they could exchange friendly (or potentially very awkward) goodbyes was unresolved. She would finish her pity party first, and decide on it later.
She couldn't remember much of the night before except in flashes. An intense jab of loneliness motivating her to haunt the Optimist Creed show. Charming free drinks out of strangers and the bartender. Almost going home with one guy, until she realized he had a girlfriend. Feeling even more lonely and used. Mateo cornering her and making her laugh. Mateo carrying her home over his shoulder. Her admitting to missing him. Mateo admitting something about Greg. He loved Greg. Greg didn't love him.
From there, everything was a mess and a blur, more drinks and distractions, followed by a total memory blackout. Had they fucked? Or had they just slept together? How much had she drank? How much did he drink? Why had she agreed to come home with him in the first place? Why had he asked her to come home with him? He was their friend, and she wasn't one of them anymore.
He stirred slightly, and in a moment of dull pain and vague horror, she noticed her phone number and address on his arm. If Mateo knew, then they might know, and she wasn't ready for that. Licking her thumb to get what moisture she could, she carefully rubbed at the ink on his arm in slow circles, keeping her touch gentle and soothing so he wouldn't wake. After a few minutes, it was smudged and lightened enough to become unreadable, and she relaxed in his arms again.
It was stupid, sharing a bed with a friend. Sherry had learned that the hard way. Had sworn to herself it would never happen again. Not after all of that. She had made the no sleeping with friends rule for a reason, and in breaking it, karma had been sure to punish her as harshly as possible. And now here she was again, in the arms and bed of another friend. Even if they hadn't fucked, which she honestly wasn't sure of either way, it was still stupid to be there. Had she really gotten this lonely?
The answer was a resounding and hollow yes. She had. And in a fresh moment of weakness, anger, hurt, tears began to slip from between tightly laced lashes, and she hid in the crook of Mateo's arm. Nothing ever woke him, so it was safe to allow herself this small breakdown, this secret and quiet pity party where she could once again dwell on just how unfair it all was, while taking some comfort in the unconscious warmth of her one time friend's arms. Mateo was sweet and accepting, and she wouldn't burden him with her self-pity. Not when he had his own hurts to bare, and not when she knew she should be done with her own wounds.
He was sweet, and she wouldn't weigh him down. Wouldn't risk another letdown of her own was probably more like it. The question of whether it would be better to leave now, before he woke, or later, when they could exchange friendly (or potentially very awkward) goodbyes was unresolved. She would finish her pity party first, and decide on it later.