ODAAT: Volume 1, Chapter 2

 

Chapter 2
The Morning After

I wake up, feeling drained of all my energy. I realize I'm laying on a phone and figure I forgot mine in the bed last night. So I pull it out from underneath me, letting out a content sigh. I don't remember much about last night. I think after Hunter went to bed, I busied myself on my computer. I remember heading to the bathroom for a glass of water. Each of my steps felt like walking on clouds. It was like I was floating away from myself. I managed to find the edge of the bed and pull myself into the sheets. Languid. Defeated. It's all a blur from there. I press my hand into the bed to try and get balance. But I feel around and realize there is more than one phone. I'm on top of what feels like a phone graveyard. A pile of phones that don't belong to me. But that's not the only thing that's strange about this bed. It doesn't feel right. It smells worse. It's full. My hand finds the body laying beside mine. It's bare muscles, toned, and warm. There's a dent in the middle of his smooth chest. I let my hand slide over his torso, smiling to myself. I don't need to open my eyes to know who is beside me. That dent gives him away. It looks like he might have been in an accident. Maybe hurt himself on stage when he was in the middle of a back flip off one of the amps. But it's just the way his muscles define themselves. There is no cause. He has similar imprints at the base of his spine, back dimples. They are beautiful, much like the rest of him. There is something about his presence that brings a calmness to my soul. I think it's that beauty, how inviting and warm he is. Or, it's something else. Something I'm not quite ready to admit to myself.

Part of me wants to stay in the moment, even though I'm not quite sure what it is yet. I want to. But I don't. I pull myself out of the covers, away from that body. I open my eyes slowly and look around. It's hard to tell what time it is, since the room is mostly dark. There's a red hue over the entire room, but that's from a lamp that was left on in the corner of the room. There are no open windows, which might let in sound from the outside world. The curtains are black, blocking the sunlight from pouring in, if the morning hours have approached. I slide off the bed and land on my own two feet. I try to remember what happened last night as I look around the environment. There are bodies everywhere. Exposed skin stretches my eyesight like the ocean. As I'm walking across the crowded room, I'm kicking bottles. Some empty, some emptying onto the floor. Sticky puddles of alcohol and bodily fluids. I feel like I'm in the red light district in Amsterdam. I know I'm not, because I would have remembered boarding a plane. And the smell. It's hitting my nostrils like a brick of concrete. It's hard. It's rough. It's similar to those dressing rooms back stage that I know oh-so well. I step over people who are passed out on the floor. I'd be shocked, if this wasn't a common sight in the life I've lived. There are two bodies blocking the exit of the room I'm in. A young girl and an older guy who apparently fell asleep during their act of last night. It looks like I missed one hell of a show. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I was right there in the middle. I remember nothing, so it's best not to make assumptions. I keep walking until I find a staircase. Prior to the first step I take, I never consider what I'm wearing. I finally check to make sure that I'm clothed. Not fully, but enough to walk into an unknown persons' house.

My feet make no sound as I head down the linoleum steps. A large door greets me at the bottom of the stairs. It's closed, but the windows on each side are letting the sunshine in. It's bright outside. If I had to guess, it's just a little past noon. I continue around the doorway that leads into the living room. There's more of everything down here. More people, more bottles. A whole lot more fluids. More smells. But, I don't care. I know my way around this house, regardless of how big it might be. I find the kitchen and the coffee pot, quickly brewing myself something strong. I pull out the coffee cup I usually use when I'm here. It's hidden behind a box of his favorite kind of cereal. He'd say “so no one uses it”. He wants me to feel welcome here. I do, sometimes. But, he's hardly ever here anyway. He lives in two worlds. One, a mansion filled with exposed skin and bodily fluids. This is his lifestyle. Parties, drugs, women, men and everything else that matches his celebrity status. But he lives a duel life, his second being one of discretion. Secrecy. That's the life I fit into. That's the life I'm comfortable in. Every once in a while, we like to join the ranks of all the rest, step outside ourselves. That's why he keeps this house, even though it's never felt like home.

I don't have a home, just walls that house my belongings. I'm too used to longing for an escape. That does things to a person. Strange things. I often wake up in different places, as different people. It doesn't even phase me anymore. On a morning like this, the only thing I care about is a strong cup of coffee. I love that his coffee pot brews instantly, pouring the liquid into my mug until it hits the brim. I don't bother taking my creamer out of the fridge. I don't know if it's still good anymore. It's been weeks since we've been here, after all. I don't need sugar either. I'm not against sweet or smooth. I'm just not in the mood. I just need the blunt force that is black coffee. I need to wake up a little, maybe clear my head. At the very least, I hope to counter this gradually increasing headache that promises to rip my head wide open. I put my hands on the counter, wrapping them around my coffee cup. I hear footsteps coming from behind me. I consider turning around, to see if it's someone I know. But I don't. Because the larger part of me just doesn't care. There's a chance, with a party this size, I only know one person: the host. No one else matters anyways. The footsteps approach slowly, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen. I can tell they don't know that I'm already aware of their presence. They might be afraid of scaring me, so there's a caution in their approach. I feel hands rest on my shoulders, slowly moving down my sides. The same hands press into my stomach as the arms attached wrap around my waist. This is a surprise. He leans down and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. He brushes my hair aside with his nose, pressing his plump lips into my spine. Soft, gentle and endless like the ocean. His lips are inviting, the way the rest of his body is. I smile, removing my hands from my coffee cup. I let myself turn around, slowly. He adjusts, so his hands press into my back and I'm met with his smile. He leans down and his lips hover above mine. I could never forget the grace in the way they press to my own. A simple kiss, at first. He's testing his limits, but pushing just past them. He knows I don't approve, but that I can't resist him for long. Before I know it, I'm against the counter. We're wrapping around each other like a pretzel, never meant to be taken apart. He smiles against my lips and I moan into his mouth. Our hands roam each others bodies, his exposed completely.

By the time his lips move from mine, the coffee on the counter behind me is cold. It's not hot enough in this room for that to happen so suddenly. But it wasn't sudden. Time disappears when I'm with him. Five minutes into 5 months. Each second is a lifetime. Or so it feels. Right now, right here, I need that. He grounds me when I'm floating off too far. That's when it all comes rushing back. Last night. Him.

I left Hunter's, leaving him to dream whatever makes him more content than reality. I didn't bother pulling out my laptop. I went to get a glass of water, but my feet kept me going forward. The weightless steps I took to my bed weren't to my own, but to his. With him. Following, like I often find myself doing whenever he's around. I just went for a walk, to try and clear my head. I must have ended up at a bar, maybe pulled off the street into a house party. In this neighborhood, there are always house parties. It doesn't matter if you know anyone inside or not, they pull you in. You only roam the streets this late at night to find somewhere better to be. I must have found that better place. Or at least, wrapped in his arms, I feel like I did.

Maybe the better place found me.