Life · Love · Poetry · Short Stories

The Morning After, the Walk of Shame and the Cab ride home.

As she sat there in her under garments, with a glass of red wine and a Sidney Sheldon novel besides her; she couldn’t help but to stare. Stare at the vanilla scented candles burning by her dressing table and think of the night before. As if the morning cab ride back to her house was not enough, the embarrassing thoughts she had to replay in her head while in the midst of an old mexican cab driver. The thoughts of her kissing him, a man she had only just met a couple of hours ago at a bar in Soho. Telling her she looked amazing in her red kiss shoes and the little black dress she had on. His soft whispers of nothings sent shivers down her spine, his words had touched her heart and melted it the way no other had before; not that fast in such a short time anyway. The way he stared at her, with eyes full of longing and desire. She hadn’t had a man look at her that way in such a long time. So when she was having her fifth glass of dirty martini she thought to herself, “he is Will Smith tall too?“. Oblivious to the people around them she leaned in and kissed him, his lips tasted just as she had imagined; like the 2010 Santa Rita Merlot he was drinking the whole night, fruity. It was all a blur after that, the throwing up and drive to his apartment. A lovely top floor apartment in South Bank with a view to die for, when you looked out his bedroom window his room was facing the London eye. So after she had laid with him and was now in bed next to a man she barely knew hearing him snore like her grandpa does she thought to herself, “What is his name?” a thought that literally snapped her back to sober. As she laid away in the dark thinking about leaving she replayed the whole night in head the parts she could remember anyway and felt a weird knots in the pit of her stomach. And as she played these events back she felt herself drifting away in sleep and as she drifted she knew she would wake up to the worst kind of guilt in the morning.
7:45-am as the sun ray hit her face she rose only to still hear this stranger next to her still snoring. The gods sure weren’t please with her because she had the worst headache she had ever endured. With no intentions of waking up this stranger she gathered her belongings and slowly made a quick exit. When she got to the elevator she pressed the down button and waited for the doors to open and when they finally did, there stood a man and woman clearly in their work suits and she couldn’t help but cringe a little. As if that was not bad enough the left was going up meaning she had to endure another few judgmental looks. “Why did I have to wear this little dress today of all days“, she thought to herself. The walk of shame out of the apartment building was the longest she had ever had. Not saying that she had many “walk of shame” but this walk was generally the longest she had ever had. This was in fact her first time experiencing the walk of shame “and would be her last”, she mumbled to herself. As she gestured for a cab she couldn’t help but feel the knots in the pit of her stomach come back. The feeling of guilt she was trying so hard to keep locked up was creeping out from underneath all the smeared makeup and sex hair. So as she sat there in the cab with the driver trying his best to make small talk in his mexican accent she couldn’t help but feel dirty. The images of her with the tall stranger from the night before kept playing over and over in her head. It was as if she was there in the room all over again but this time she was watching. It felt somewhat like an outer body experience, she saw herself do things she is not proud of. Tried to scream to herself to stop but there was no stopping the girl from last night. As she chewed all her nails off thinking about the two strangers from last night she didn’t hear the cab driver telling her she was at the address he gave him. Gathering her thoughts and the little dignity she had left she paid her cab fee and got out of the cab. “Good morning West Hamstead“, she said out loud as she opened the door to the flat that she shared with her two best friends.
Back in her room she was bought back to reality by the feeling of a cold liquid running down her thighs; she had some how spilled the red wine all over her white linen duvet cover. Realizing what had happened she removed it and walked over to her bathroom and started running hot water over the parts she had spilled the wine so that it wouldn’t stain. While doing this she looked up in the mirror and felt a strange feeling of sadness, she gazed at herself for a lasting few minutes and started crying.

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