Aaron woke up on Valentine’s Day in Cherie’s bed. He had a splitting headache, dry mouth, and his head spun around, dizzy and wobbly. He got up and felt his stomach lurch to one side of his abdomen and then the other. Aaron ran to the toilet, preparing to vomit. Unfortunately, nothing came up. He’d have to live with the nasty poisons in his body for the rest of the day. Damn the alcohol.
He walked back into the bedroom. Cherie lay in the bed, sprawled out like a swastika and taking two-thirds of the mattress. Aaron didn’t want to climb back in bed with her. She probably had bad breath and wouldn’t be interested in cuddling. Not anymore, not after ten years and definitely not after Aaron’s affairs with leading historical figures from the past. Damn the time machine.
Aaron put on a pair of undershorts and went into the kitchen. He woke up angry, as he always did on those mornings after Cherie used him. Damn last night.
“Would you massage my sore back?” she said as they watched TV. Of course he’d done it. Like the idiot loser he was. But he knew the second he reached to kiss her, to fondle her, she’d retract away from him. All about her needs.
He went upstairs. Today was Valentine’s Day and he’d bought a card for her. He tore it up and threw it away. Damn the card.
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