It's dark in your bedroom, but somehow you know it's morning by the irritating sounds of those damn mourning doves that like to sit on your windowsill. They just love singing their sad songs at 7 in the morning despite the fact that you've already threatened to let Zeus on them if they didn't beat it. That dog loathes birds and you have the traumatizing high school memories to prove it.
You stretch, your bedsheets bunched around your waist, before rolling over to the biggest shock of your life. So far, at least.
Erik has his back turned to you, but you know he's awake by the stream of quiet stream of words coming out of his mouth. It's a language you don't understand, nor one you've heard before, and for a second you wonder if he's talking to himself or in his sleep. The fact that he's in your bed, is still more surprising than the fact that he's bilingual, and you peer over him to see if he's really there but he reaches back to smack you on the thigh for being nosy.
You make sure to call him a 'bitch' under your breath before wrapping your comfortable sheets around you. It's freezing in your apartment. Sunday mornings mean sleeping in and running errands, but apparently Erik wants you to babysit his cousin today. He won't tell you how old she is, and hasn't even told you her name, he was so concerned with the way you looked in that lingerie. He even whipped his cell phone out and took several pictures of you for himself. Lewd ass pictures, terrible ass pictures that would just kill you were they ever to get out. He called himself 'teaching' you how to give him head without choking to death and when you looked up, his phone was in your face. You won't lie, though, the picture was lowkey sexy from an objective viewpoint. You just don't want to see it again out of sheer embarrassment.
He also ripped the shit out of the outfit trying to get it off you. 60 dollars, done.
Erik ends his phone call with a bitter exclamation in whatever language he's speaking before tossing his phone onto your nightstand. You feel his hands on you next, his lips on your neck and you wonder why his sex drive is so high. You can't keep up.
"Erik," you say, giggling. "I can't. I swear I can't right now."
He snorts, leaning up and away from you. The bed dips as he gets out of it, and you hear the jingling of keys in his jeans pocket as he pulls them on. "That's a damn shame."
"What is?" you ask, leaning up with the sheets wrapped around your bare chest.
"That yo weak ass can't handle this dick."
"That's hardly my fault," you say, squinting. "Anyways, I don't really feel like babysitting some bad ass little kid today. Why can't you just watch her?"
He pulls his shirt on before grabbing his phone off the nightstand. You're about to repeat yourself when he suddenly says, "Nah, she ain't a little kid. She just keep buggin' me to take her everywhere and i'm not tryin' to be at Disneyland and shit."
You hum, watching him move toward the hallway.
"I'll be back," he calls, voice growing fainter as he nears the door. But you aren't done with him yet, he owes you for that lingerie, regardless of the fact you already have more than enough of his money in your wallet to cover it. It's the principle.
You chase after him, wrapped entirely in a bedsheet, and you run into him on his way out the door. "Wait."
He just stares at you.
"See this?" you ask, holding up your ruined bodysuit. "You ripped my shit last night."
"How much you want for it, ma?" he asks you, leaning against the doorframe. You don't want his money, you just wanted to tell him, and you shrug with a sly smile on your face.
