“Where were you last night!” She demands from the doorway, wanting to yell more than know the answer. Ignore her, turn around, and cover head with the blankets, nestle deeper into the warmth. Good question, where was I last night? But there’s no way those words will be spoken aloud.
“Well?” The grating high pitch sound continues, this time with an actual questioning tone. Without looking, her image is visible. Stout, but not fat, heavy from too much worry. Slippers missing tufts of blue fuzz. A rough faded cotton bathrobe. Red hair with more than its share of grey at her age. Forget all that, curl into a ball and close eyes tighter. Having only got in an hour ago, sleep is highly desirable.
Her heavy step treads into this room. But theres no energy left to scream at her for once. She halts after a few steps.
Where was I last night? The thought still plagues the mind. After somehow getting to the bathroom, the only sight is an ugly mess of smeared makeup in the mirror. Legs and shoulders are burning, and there are bruises decorating the torso. Where the hell were you? The conscience can’t help but ask. After the second bar, the events of last night are gone. Not a damn thing can be remembered. Well, at least this time no shit-faced god awful ugly is in the bed. Sneers the loud conscience.
