When We Met

Fourteen

|Martin|

The worst thing about kissing a girl who was totally drunk is that you never get to discuss that happening with her. Because, guess what? She won't remember a thing. And then you'll be left alone to ponder over that little moment and create false hopes for her to get a flashback of the same.

Sweet life.

I hate the fact that I'm one of those guys who made out with a drunk girl. Actually, I hate the fact that she kissed me back. Coz now, I'll never know if she kissed me because she wanted to, or if it was just a mistake for her...

I hate this. So so much.

So, this is exactly what I do for the days that follow that night in Cheryl's apartment. I keep on reliving that moment when she made the first move. I thought she had lost her head somewhere in the club, because it came to me as a surprise. A shocking surprise. Don't blame me. I always felt that that woman can't stand my presence at all. Leave alone voluntarily kissing me.

And I'll keep on wondering about the same for the next few weeks, I guess. Hopefully, she'll remember some fragments of that night.

I drag my lazy ass out of the bed and push away the curtains, letting the cool air sweep against the glass windows.

I can be quite messy sometimes, but I never hide that fact from my neighbors. For instance, I never make my bed and then let the old couple, who lives next door, have a good glimpse of my bedroom. To say that it irks them would be an understatement of all times.

If you really bake a cake without sugar, then share it with the world.

As usual, I do nothing to sort out the mess that's otherwise known as my bed, and head straight for the shower. Yes, folks. I'm not one of those disgusting, stinky blokes who rarely get their heads underneath the water.

To be honest, I haven't even talked to Cheryl from past six days. Leave alone running into her. Most of the times, I run into her accidently on purpose.

And neither did she try to contact me. What if she remembers everything from that night and is absolutely disgusted? You can never tell what that woman has going around inside that wise head of hers.

I flip back the knob of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. The brown of my hair is damped with hot water and now frames my forehead in an irregular manner.

I do absolutely nothing to change the appearance.

I wear my running shorts and a T-shirt and head out of my bedroom. It's early morning, and hopefully, Deb is still asleep. She had her night shift yesterday and came back home only two hours ago. She deserves some rest. Breakfast duty is in my compartment, I'm concluding.

I ram my feet inside the only pair of adidas shoes I own and go for a quick jog to clear my head of all useless thoughts.

The dawn spreads across the empty lanes and the eerie silence is filled by the little chirps of the birds. The sky is a fading shade of blue and the sun is nowhere to be seen.

I start jogging and let the breeze whistle into my ears. My head bows down as I take up speed and my eyes sting due to the bitter cold in the air.

It feels like I'm the only one alive at this hour. Which, technically, is not incorrect. Everyone must be in their sweet heaven, also known as a warm sleep.

The supermarket looks like a barren place with absolutely no life around it; something really contradictory to the reality. There is a deafening silence that makes me question my auditory senses. And above all, it's peaceful.