𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐬 | pete davidson

twenty six: the morning after

Although his basement apartment was soundproof, especially to the upstairs half of the house, Pete could hear Dahlia sobbing just before he drifted off to sleep.

So exhausted from the previous night, Pete had confused the sobs for a dream and a figment of his tired mind.

They were soft and almost whisper-like, it was clear she was trying to keep quiet. Pete still confused what he heard for a dream the next morning.

He had woken up before Dahlia, thanks to an overwhelming urge to pee. When he left the bathroom, still drying his hands off by wiping them down his shirt, he carefully tiptoed towards the bedroom.

Gently pushing the door open, after having cautiously twisted the knob with the goal of making as little noise as humanly possible, he stopped in his tracks when he saw Dahlia.

She had her hair wrapped up and secured in a black satin scarf Dahlia had retrieved from her purse, her blonde locs shining through the somewhat sheer material of the scarf.

Lying on her belly, her leg folded up and her arms resting underneath the pillows, Dahlia looked so peacefully asleep. As if nothing happened at all yesterday. Or all week for that matter.

He could hear the soft, almost ethereal, snoring as her cute little nose hummed with each and every inhale and exhale. Pete approached the bed, the socks on his feet muffling his footsteps against the wooden floor.

Her chest raised and lowered gently with every breath she took, Pete smiled to himself seeing how comfortable Dahlia looked as she slept.

Knock it off, dude! He thought to himself.
Let her sleep! If she were to wake up right now, you'd look like such a fucking freak.

Just as Pete was about to turn and leave, he stopped when he saw the pillow Dahlia had snuggled herself into. There were tear stains spotted along the side of the pillow, it became more apparent when she would stir in bed and rolled onto her side.

That confirmed it for Pete. It wasn't in his head. Pain struck him in the gut, making his chest tighten from the heartache of seeing the evidence that proves Dahlia had cried herself to sleep.

He hated this feeling, staring long and hard at the pillow as he simmered in this dreadful pain.

Pete turned to leave the bedroom, closing the door behind him carefully so it wouldn't disturb Dahlia.

Making his way back into the living room, he began to look desperately all over. He lifted up couch cushions, searched through his closet by the front door, threw his shoes about looking for it.

Finally, finding what he had been looking for on the floor underneath the coffeetable, he dusted off the phone and punched in a string of numbers before bringing the phone up to his ear.

It rang twice, then three times, before the person on the other end picked it up.

Pete hoped with all his heart,

Let this work. Please let this work...

*

Dahlia woke up to the flooding light that seeped in through the tiny window in the corner of the room. She watched as her eyes adjusted, the few specks of dust floating gracefully as the morning light shone down on them.

It was only then, as she began to process that she had not fallen asleep in her bed at home (and realizing that she never will again), that she heard the sound of water running from outside the bedroom door.

Confused, thinking for a split second that she had fallen asleep at Jack's, she let her leg slip out of bed and let her foot touch the cold floor.

Leaving the comfort of the warm bed that did not belong to her, she rubbed her eyes, still somewhat groggy from the night before.