The pitter patter of a cat tumbling their way across the floor perks my ears, and causes me to shrug my way sitting upright in bed. After tugging at frizzy, touseled, dreadful curls, I rub the dark eye makeup from my cheekbones. Sticky skin surrounds my person, coated in tangled blankets that wrap around my ankles and keep me hostage in the wee hours of the afternoon.
My naked feet reach out the floor. A cat's face rubs up against my leg, and a I lightly nudge it away. Not this morning, my friend. A pile sits by the leg of my bed; I reach down and pull the crumpled t- shirt over my naked body. It's hem skims at the top of my thigh, and I lumber to the door.
The door bell rings down stairs. My seemingly glass skull shatters from the noise.
What happened last night? I remembered most, but obviously not enough to avoid the splitting headache I was suffering from presently.
It rang out again.
"What the hell?" I mumbled with irritance, then broke into a faked cheer. "Coming!"
Hoping it was someone who wouldn't mind the scantily covered body, I made it through my apartment and pulled the front door open. The warm, smoggy air blwe over my naked legs and ruffled the bottom of my makeshift dress.
The former motel door opened to a man dressed in khaki pants and a dark blue jacket. Thinking I'd never seen the man in my life, I self conciously pulled at the bottom of my shirt. How ribald I must have appaered. He looked no older than, nor younger than I, so all I felt was flattery when he gazed at my pasty, muscled toned legs.
"You're not dressed yet?" He asked, laughing at something. Whether it was the point of the statement or my baffled expression that got to him, I immediately felt the need to defend myself.
"Who are you?"