keep it professional - r. taylor

35

~July 1985~

Love is a tricky concept. When you're younger, you assume you'll be swept up by Prince Charming and ride off into the sunset on the back of his horse. But as you get older, you begin to understand the complexities and deep layers underneath the surface. One of those layers that I've struggled with the most was the concept that even if you break-up with someone, you could still learn to love them again. Even if it pains you knowing that it wouldn't work out again.

Movement is what woke me from my sleep. Battering my eyes open, I could barely see anything. My eyes were open, yet my vision was practically completely impared. Was this still a part of the dream I had been enjoying?

The next thing I felt was two hands on my lower back. They were holding me, gently, barely having any grasp on my back. As strange as it seemed, this felt familiar. It felt comfortable. It felt like I had missed it..

I wiggled one of my arms away from my side. I had some recollection of everything that had happened last night. I remember taking Roger home, and getting into the bed with him. But I distinctly remember falling asleep facing away from him. I guess, in my sleep, I flipped over towards his side and he pulled me close.

Moving my hair out of my eyes, I saw that the reason I couldn't see anything was because I was nearly pressed up to his chest. He still reeked of vodka, but it wasn't completely nauseating. I had forgotten how much I loathed falling asleep in my jeans, with the button pressing into my stomach and the pants stiffing up to make it impossible to move my legs. I could already tell my breath smelled awful based on the fact I wasn't able to brush my teeth right now.

But none of that mattered right now. Right now, I was wrapped up in Roger's embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Was it bad that I was slightly enjoying this? Was it bad that instead of getting up, I was admiring the sunlight hitting his gorgeous eyelashes? Was it awful that I felt strangely emotional, missing waking up like this every morning?

Of course it was! I was completely over him, and he was too. Or was I just repeating that so many times that I actually started to believe it?

My thoughts were disrupted by Roger's stirring once more. This time, however, he opened his eyes slightly. Not trying to look creepy, I pretended as if I had just woken up as well, fluttering my eyes open and yawning. As soon as our eyes met, I felt his hands quickly move away from my back.

Pushing away a few strands of hair from his face, he groggily said, "Mornin'." His voice was incredibly raspy, not even sounding like him in the slightest.

"Morning."

"Sorry about last night. I know you really didn't have to take care of me."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you got home safely."

"And sorry for all this," he said, motioning in between the two of us.

"It's fine." I wanted to say it was more than fine, but I thought that would be a stretch. Not to mention the awkward silence that would definitely follow if said. After a few seconds of just laying there, looking up at each other, I made the first move to get out of bed. Throwing the sheets off of me, I made my way to the mirror to try to make myself presentable. It slightly helped that I already had my change of clothes on so I didn't have to change.

"I'm surprised you're able to be up and functioning," I said, breaking the silence. "I thought with the state you were in last night, you would barely be able to speak or move around."

"Most of the time, when I get plastered at night, the morning after, I'm not completely ill."

"I envy you for that." Putting my earrings back on, I turned around to help make the bed, only to be met with a shirtless Roger. Diverting my eyes, I threw my hand to cover my eyes to make sure he knew I wasn't staring. It seemed ridiculous considering the fact that I had seen him naked multiple times before. But now, it all seemed just a little bit different.