Grim Reaper

Portia

I wake to a violent pounding in my head. I groan, turn over, burying my face in the pillow, the unfamiliar feel of it — mine is softer.

And mine doesn't smell like him. My eyelids fly open and bright sunlight makes my head hurt worse.

This is the second day now I'm waking with a headache. This one I did to myself.

Whiskey.

Too much of it.

It takes me a long minute to get up the courage to look behind me. But when I do, I find the bed empty and realize what that sound is. The shower.

He did sleep here, I realize. I still see the indentation from his head on the pillow and when I reach to touch it tentatively, it's still warm.

I wanted this, right? To be passed out when he touched me? So, I wouldn't remember it.

What do I remember? Not much.

Lifting the comforter, I peer underneath, surprised to find I'm still wearing his clothes.

The tie is gone, and the pants are down around my ankles, but I don't feel anything. I would feel it if he'd touched me. I've had sex before. I know ho