Outside

18

The light shining through the window in the b&b wakes me up, it's early and I can tell because the pane is freshly condensed from the early morning fog. Rolling my aching body around to lay on my side, I pick up my phone from the floor and read that the time is only nine in the morning. Earlier than my usual wake up time.

The bed is empty. I don't even realise until I stretch my arm out behind me expecting to feel the warmth of Van's body beside me, but all I feel is an indented white sheet covered mattress.

I eventually rise from the bed after a few minutes of contemplating whether or not to get up, when I do I feel the cold air engulf my half naked body. The only thing keeping me even close to warm being Van's t shirt over my small physique. It's times like this that I feel grateful that I'm small, grateful that Van's 'Little Comets' top drowns my tiny body because I'd rather not walk out of this room with nothing else to wear.

I begin to walk out of the room and into the ensuite until I'm stopped by my reflection in the mirror, the horrifying reflection of a Lyla that I hardly even recognise staring back at me. A happier, more content version of myself looking back at me as I move closer to see the evidence from the events of last night.

Suddenly remembering that I have a little makeup bag in my rucksack, I run around the other side of the bed- where it was thrown in the midst of last night's events- and collect it, rummaging through until I find my mascara and my concealer. Something to cover up the fatigue which is clear on my blushing face. Something to cover up what I could never pass off as falling over or walking into a door. I sit myself on the edge of the bed, looking at the mirror as I decide where to start with the make up I brought with me, trying to decide whether or not to attempt to cover up the evident marks of passion on my body.

The red marks on my chest and the bruises on my neck, the swollen red lips I stare at in the mirror as I'm applying the mascara to my tired eyes, the aching of my legs and the throbbing of my head tells me all I need to know about what happened last night.

It all plays again in my brain again like a broken record. Like I'm reliving it as I unwind the lid of my concealer, ready to cover what Van had placed on my skin for the world to see.

The soft, pink skin of his lips that pressed against my collar bone, gently patting the warmth of my own body and leaving a tingling sensation every time they were removed, the careful caressing of his hands against my hips as he pushed me further towards the wall until my exposed back hit the cold grey surface, his lips not leaving the delicacy of my neck, not even once.

Not once until the moment I placed my index finger under his chin, and brought his eyes to my own, gazing into my soul as if it was the stars in the sky. Not once until our lips met and I felt his breath hitch, my own doing the same, indicating that we both wanted to go further. And so we did.

I touch the tender marks, flinching a little when I realise it hurts more than I thought, it's more of an ache than actual pain though. It doesn't bother me, it's actually kind of nice having some sort of reminder of the most intimate and beautiful night I've ever experienced.

Although we were both drunk, off our heads on a ton of vodka and cokes, I still remember it all, I was still loving the moment we were sharing, and it was still a beautiful night despite how intoxicated and dizzy we were. I could only hope that Van feels the same way about it as I do.

"You alright love?" Van startles me and I almost stab myself in the eye with the black stick, "sorry" he giggles when he notices me almost jump out of my skin.

"Yeah" I simply respond and put the mascara back into the container before placing it into the bag along with the rest of my make up. I stare at myself in the mirror for a few more seconds before realising I don't have any clothes for today, and I certainly can't walk about in just a shirt and nothing else, I don't want to look like a dirty stop out.