Wandee Wittaya (English Version)

Good Day #02

Dead...

I must have been dead. When the alarm clock goes off, my body does not have an ounce of energy to move.

He has left—that boy who was with me all night. I was somewhat conscious before he left, so I know that he wiped me up and put me into new clothes as well.

A soft duvet was put on my body by him. The air conditioner was adjusted to change from the extreme coldness to the suitable coolness by him too. I wonder how he can be this nice. It does not match his vicious look and his icy cold eyes at all.

I sneaked a peek at his face one last time when he put the duvet over me.

He is devilishly handsome.

He is dangerously handsome.

He is a heartthrob. These all are how I would describe him.

It must be a stupid state of mind that occurs when one is on the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness, I guess, that makes me find myself unable to turn my interest away from that boy who is a stranger to me.

Maybe it is because I was satisfied. That's it. That is exactly it.

I shake my head to get rid of the dizziness of the hangover, open the eyelids that are tightly shut, and then use my shaky hands to lift the duvet up to uncover my body, feeling sore all over the body as I try to get myself up. My passageway is still numb as if his thing were still stuck in there.

My legs shake as I stand on them. I cannot describe how I am feeling at the moment. I still feel all the pain and the soreness, but another thought that is taking shape seems to be more powerful than the pain and the soreness.

I really, really like last night's love scene.

I like the heated slutty stuff that I did.

I like the violence that occurs when he thrusted himself into me... I am twenty-nine, and I have just realized that I like raw, barbaric sex.

Hey, this is even greater than how Einstein discovered E=mc2, don't you think? I laugh out once and have to wrap my hand around my throat when I find out that it is so dry and sore.

Moaning until one's voice is gone as described in the novels feels like this, I see.

...I grin, without any regret that I have lost my virginity.

On the contrary, indeed, I think I am so merry—my plain, dull life has started to gain some meaning.

So, that sex is good like this.

Once I have realized that, I set the alarm clock for a later time and get up with a more joyful manner than I have in the old days, but then I have to fall back onto the bed again, whimpering because of the pain in the passageway. It is not unbearable, but whenever it stings, I recollect the time I was screwed.

I think I am beginning to become obsessed.

Anyway, where can I see him again?

I blink my eyes repeatedly as I am thinking, looking a little more solemn. Then, I gradually get myself up in the sitting position again, clicking my tongue to the alarm clock that is going off again. Because I always put off my waking time, I have to postpone the alarm clock every five minutes.

This time, I just turn it off since I am now fully awake. The alarm sound temporarily stops me from thinking about that boy. I am careful when I get up again and limp into the kitchen to start a new day.