The Football Complex

The Morning After Complex

Logical, but messed up thought of the morning. Drinking would be way less fun if hangovers didn't consume said drunk the next day. It is akin to sneaking out, there's always a chance you might get caught, but that thrill makes it all the more fun. Hangovers are the metaphorical parents catching you, the thrill that maybe this time I won't wake up with one.

This morning I have once again been caught, tiny men tap dance on my brain, rattling and jarring me awake. I know I'm not in my own bed, that much is obvious. I can feel the arm circling my waist, holding me too close. I lazily roll over, my eyes catching the sunlight that glints off his eyebrow piercing. Dillon's face is soft in sleep, his midnight hair brushing his equally dark eyelashes, and in this moment I'm struck with just how beautiful the devil can look. My mind instantly recoils from that thought, handing catching in mid-air.

Time to go.

I roll off the bed, deciding my scheduled walk slash drive of shame is way overdue. I'm just slipping on my jeans when I hear him groan. "Where are you going," I hesitate before answering.

"Home," I hear a scoff from behind me.

"What," Still half dressed, jeans unbuttoned, I turn my torso to send him the stink eye.

"You're not going home," His brazen comment gets me to turn fully. He sends an appreciative glance, obviously approving.

"Come again, you want to repeat that Dillon, mfft." I pull his discarded shirt over my head deciding this argument is better done clothed.   

"Thought you might stay for breakfast," I could feel my face flush with anger, he has got to be kidding me.

"Dillon, remind me, when was the last time stayed for breakfast," I only pause long enough for him to take a breath. "Oh wait, that's right, never. Thanks for the reminder, I'm gonna go back to doing what I was doing before, which was leaving."

I hear him sigh, "Ronnie," Ignore him, searching intently for my keys, I turn towards the bed again.

"Ronnie," He sounds less patient this time, but I still ignore him. He sighs again, and then I hear the jingle of keys. I eye him quietly, watching them swing a bit in his hand. I lean across the bed reaching for them, but he pulls them away quicker than I can reach, causing me to lose my balance and fall onto his chest.

"Ronnie," He sounds amused this time, which angers me further.

"What," The word is mumbled feebly into his chest.

"Look up dumby," I only agree because I want my keys so I can jet out like a rocket.

"How many times have we done this now?" I blow out a raspberry and frown.

"Too many times," I hear him sigh, and I hold out my hand for my keys. I see a storm of emotions filter through eyes, too blue to belong to someone who is drowning in demons, much like myself. He finally drops my keys into my awaiting palm. I roll off him and clamber back to my feet.

"Then I don't see why breakfast is a problem," I want to scream at him, tell him that this is a bad idea. Tell him that any kind of relationship, past bumping uglies in the dark when we're wasted on the poisons we succumbed to that night, is a really, really, really bad idea. We're the kind people that get addicted too fast. We would get drunk off the high we give each, burn as bright as a star and then implode. Our demons would team up and fight each other all at the same time, and I didn't want that. My...He...He would have never wanted this or that for me.

A relationship destined to fall apart, and then kill me all over again. 

"Don't get attached Dillon, I'm not an attachable kind of person."