Suck It And See

12) The Morning After

12: The Morning After

There was something so serene in that March morning. Bright behind the green curtain, the burr of London distant and almost, if he dared dream, completely and impossibly still. Just calm. Alex awoke, revelling in the other presence beside him.

His arm was no longer across her because he was one for splaying out during the night. Instead it was now very close to her, lying flat against the mattress with the palm upwards, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Soft skin brushed against the backs of his curled fingers with each inhale of hers in hot depths of the duvet. With regret, he shifted into a more comfortable position; his head rested on the outstretched arm that reached up to grip the top of the metal headboard.

Alex simply gazed at the angel in his bed for a while. Her sleeping form faced him; arms decussated across her chest, shielding her charms from him. Messy brown hair fanned across the pillow, occasionally jutting out at odd angles (an indication of her tossing and turning during the night). Gentle snuffling breaths blew warm air over his bare skin. A tiny trail of her drool fell onto the pillow from lipstick-smudged lips.

To him, Lolita looked gorgeous.

Asleep, her face looked softer and even younger. A little vulnerable. Innocent...

Although not exactly. Not quite any more. He'd taken innocence last night, hadn't he? Scratched that off her list. Part of him wondered if she regretted it, sleeping with him. Truly he hoped not.

The more he got to know her, the more she grew on him. Like moss.

There and then, he made a vow to himself: never compare a girl to moss to her face. Ever.

Eventually he had to get moving. His bladder was just about to pop. That, and he felt dead creepy for staring at an unconscious woman - and enjoying it. Tempting as it was to wake her so he could spend the most time with her awake as possible, he didn't think it right to disturb her. She'd given him enough and deserved a rest. When he extracted himself from the bed, Lo shivered as his shifting of the covers exposed her to the cool air. Careful not to be too clumsy or rough, he tucked the duvet around her small body. As he moved, he felt a thin, warm pain between his shoulder blades. Without needing to check, he recognised the sensation as a scratch - a reminder of last night.

Only when in the bathroom, while having a shower, did he realise it had been literally years since he'd watched a girl sleep beside him. Simply watched and smiled, rather than struggling to remember a name, or getting pissed off that he wasn't getting any or that she was ignoring him. Not to mention the arguments and the nights spent aggressively facing away from each other, as ridiculously far as you could get from another in a double bed.

Okay, it was still early days with Lolita but he couldn't help but think things could be different with her. Maybe.

Whether he liked it or not, Alex had feelings for her. Not the L-word - it was far too early for that - but he definitely liked her. Certainly a fondness, at the very least (but it was surely something greater).

He just hoped she felt the same.

***

Stickiness. That was the first thing that went through Lo's mind when her eyes opened. She felt sticky all over. And sore; when she moved, there was a definite ache in her body. Particularly in her lower regions.

The second thing was that this was not her bed, this was not her room and these green floral pillowcases were not hers either. Not hers. His.

The third and last thing was that the unfamiliar bed, with the scent of sweat and sex hanging above it, was distinctly lacking an Alex Turner. When she awoke, she hoped to see the sleeping rockstar with the corpse of his quiff hanging. Instead there was merely an empty space. Her hand reached out to the white sheets. Cold.