The Unborn

Chapter 7

The sun shone through the cracks of the blinds in Mike’s bedroom window, showering his face with broken rays of blinding light. In a fruitless attempt to avoid the searing glare, he pulled his pillow over his throbbing head and rolled toward the opposite side of the bed. His body brushed against a soft presence beside him. He opened his eyes, trying hard to shift the cement that seemed to be caked on his lids. Although his focus was blurred, he could make out the figure of a woman lying there. Her dusty blonde curls fell gently across her tanned skin, her naked breast rising and falling in rhythm with her breathing.

 "Oh hell," He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

 The woman rolled toward him and threw her arm across his bare chest, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She buried her face into his arm, nuzzling it like a kitten nestling its mother. Mike stared down at her pretty face; she looked so peaceful, safe in the folds of his body. He couldn’t quite recall how she had come to be in his bed, though he was certain she was the waitress from Bluey’s. He ran his hand up her arm, taking in the softness of her skin; the sweet smell of perfume radiated from her every pore. His hand reached her slender arm and rested there for a moment before he gripped her fingers and with one rapid yank, threw her hand off his body.

 "Wake up," He grunted, pushing her further away from him.

  The sudden jolt woke her with panic; her eyes flew open and darted madly from one side of the room to the other, searching for the source of her fright. Still breathing hard, she glared over at Mike, a look of nonchalance on his face as he watched her reaction with what appeared to be, a certain aura of amusement.

 "You asshole," She spat at him, grabbing for the sheet to wrap around her naked frame. "I can’t believe I was stupid enough to come home with you again!" She sat up on the edge of the bed then reached down and retrieved her slip and underwear from the floor beside the bed.

 "Asshole eh? That’s not what you were calling me last night!" He mocked her. 

 Her glare remained fixed on Mike while she pulled her clothes on. It was clear she was inwardly chastising herself for having been drawn into his fake charms last night.

 "Go to hell," She cussed at him before grabbing her purse from the bedside table and storming out the door.

 "What… No kiss goodbye?" Mike yelled after her, laughter in his tone. He liked her, quite a bit too. It was a rare occurrence for him to bring the same woman home twice; he knew he’d be seeing more of her. He heard the rattle of the chain lock and then the cracking sound of the door slamming shut behind her. "Have a nice day," He said, before he stood and walked into the bathroom.

 The whistle of the taps grew fainter the further Mike turned them. Cold water gushed from the shower nozzle, slapping him in the face and bringing his senses back to life. The binge from the night before had left him feeling less than prepared for the day that lay ahead. He now wished that he hadn’t had quite so many Jimmy’s. Suds lathered upon him, forming a stream of bubbles running down his body and finally spilling onto the shower floor before gurgling down the drain. Mike rinsed himself thoroughly, snapped the taps off and stepped out of the shower. He headed back to the bedroom, pulling a towel from the railing and wrapping it around himself as he went.

 He reached into his robe and produced a fresh pair of denim jeans and a plain cotton shirt, he threw them on the bed and continued drying himself before dropping the wet towel to the floor. Dressing quickly, he then ran his fingers through his hair and left the bedroom. In the kitchen, he brewed a large pot of coffee and downed three unsweetened mugs. He then began flipping through his notebook, looking to see if anything he had written jumped out and grabbed his attention. There was nothing at this stage that yelled to him, not that he thought it would… after all, he’d had too much of a heavy night for anything to call out to him today.