She woke and found him gone. She cleared the gunk from her eyes and stared out the window at the gray day outside, the kind of day that never cleared up, but never rained. She stretched and looked around the room, tidy, minimal, nice big windows. And high off the ground. She suspected that the view was great on clear days.
Though she did not fully recall what happened here or how she got here, mostly, or the name of the man whose apartment this was, her clothes were still on which told her that she was, in the very least, not a complete tramp the night before. That was always a nice thing to discover. She hated the alternative. She rolled on her back and felt something dig into her spine, realized that she still had her bra on, and sat up. I guess I was better than I suspected, she thought. Upon sitting up, her head swam and he consciousness swayed, found a handhold, and righted itself.
“Whoa,” she whispered ad rubbed her face. Today was going to be an interesting one. Before she could deal with the impending misery this afternoon held and all the ‘cuddled under a blanket half-comatose on the couch’ness of it all, she had to figure out how to get home. But more importantly than that, she had to pee which meant finding the bathroom. She had never been a fan of peeing in her pants or the bed and she had no intention of starting now. She stood, buckled her pants, and stumbled across the room, passing the alarm clock on the dresser which yelled “9:15” at her in angry red letters. She hated alarm clocks, so fucking smug.