Pale morning light slipped beneath the half-drawn blind. It tiptoed into the room, like a pale and lonely cat, slowly making its way towards Riley’s face, and though it lay there for a few minutes eventually Riley felt himself fall back into the land of consciousness.
The young man groaned against the light, shutting his eyes tightly as he rolled onto his side, away from the sun and its prying fingers. Beside him lay a young woman, facing away with her back toward him. A soft smile played on Riley’s thin lips as he moved his hand to grace the soft flesh of her hips; the movement barely stirred her. Her breathing was soft and steady as he felt each shift of her ribcage beneath his touch. He moved his hand upwards and slid closer to her; the young woman’s hair smelt of a mixture of summer fruits, hairspray and sex. He kissed her neck, then her shoulder, never receiving much more response than a soft sigh, not quite enough to classify as a groan and not nearly enough to signify her as awake or willing.
A moment’s pause and Riley changed his mind. The digital alarm clock that sat atop the small bedside table on her side read that it was seven forty two. The young woman was deeply asleep and Riley decided now, while she still lay unconscious to the world, would be the most opportune time to dress. He didn’t want to wake her, so with practiced ease the young man slid naked from the bed; the only clothing that remained on his body were a pair of black socks he had not bothered to even attempt to take off. His dark denim jeans were on the floor; boxers tangled within them and his belt much closer to the door. Noiselessly, he untangled the pair and managed to get the rest of his clothing on- except for his t-shirt....which he had yet to spot anywhere on the cream carpeted floor. He found his shoes in the search; one was just beneath the bed, half hidden by the overhanging red duvet cover, while the other was closer to the door, where he had found his belt. However, getting the bus half naked didn’t seem too appealing; he still needed his t-shirt. Another scan of the room revealed nothing but the mess of last night.
Unintentionally, Riley seemed to take this moment to take in the room; the small framed picture of an older man and woman on the bedside table, with the locket the girl had been wearing last night placed beside the frame. Patterned cushions were strewn across the floor; he vaguely recognised the painting on the wall – sunflowers in a vase. He could only assume it was something fairly famous that had been printed onto a canvas and put into a frame. On the opposite wall a collage of photographs adorned the paintwork, all from drunken nights out or days when the girl was younger, perhaps before alcohol had ever graced her system. Eventually, he thought to lift the duvet; while partly revealing the young girls naked back and the grey and white butterfly tattoo on her left cheek he also found his t-shirt. Like the young girls hair, it too carried the aroma of sex.
Dressed, Riley pushed his fingers through his sandy hair and scratched at the fur on his chin. A pat down of his pockets revealed that phone, house keys and wallet were all still present. He considered taking this moment to check his phone before changing his mind; in all likeliness it was dead and if not he could use any remaining battery to keep himself entertained on the journey home.
A last lingering look at the girl. Now that he was on the side of the room which she faced, he could see that she still wore last night’s make-up, though it had lost its vividness - grey smudges adorned her cheeks and her lipstick was patterned on her lips; no longer blood red and hungry but now satisfied and dead. Riley knew that somewhere on his body that make-up most certainly had left traces of its mauling. But, no longer a desire to stick around, he made no effort to find a mirror.
As Riley left the bedroom the door creaked, but if the girl stirred he did not look back to notice. Once that bedroom door was shut he was free and only had to make his way down the stairs. As he reached the bottom the floorboard he landed on groaned beneath his weight but by now he could stop caring. A turn of the lock, a step through the entrance and once that door clicked behind him he was just another man leaving home early. One thought, however, crossed his mind as he stepped from the door...‘what was her name?’
As Riley left the grounds of the upper-floor flat, he took a moment to register his surroundings; small private grounds with broken white-wash fencing, a garden that either belonged to or was cared for by no one, and a road with little traffic. The housing in the area suggested mostly students and cheaper council living. A small cat, golden in colour, sat at the end of the path cleaning a paw. At its feet, and perhaps the reason it was cleaning a paw, was a small bird. Dead now, feathers scattered around its lifeless body. Riley made a face, but waited for the cat to move first as the feline shifted its cold, blue stare toward him. A small meow escaped its bloodied lips as it dropped the paw, and then lowered its head, the dead stare never leaving Riley, to lift its prize and stalk away into the bushes like the Grimm Reaper carrying a soul to hell.
Another notch on the bedpost, Riley walked for what seemed like hours, but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, before he found a bus stop. He barely noticed the chill of the morning air, having come to the conclusion he was still drunk. It was better this way – had the hangover kicked in he may not have been so willing to get out of the bed, though the very thought of the soft sheets and the even softer body next to him made him wonder why he did leave. Reluctantly, he pushed the thought as far from his mind as he could (which would never be far enough while still suffering the effects of the night before) and made an effort to read the time table he had stumbled across. In theory, he could be in his own bed in the next forty minutes.
Cade Turner
Posted by Edge Editorial Team 03.12.11
