allemir writes | shorts: The morning after
My eyes snapped open as the acid surged through my system. I hurried to the bathroom, where yesterday’s remnants were glaringly visible on the sink. Leaning against the counter, I sought stability as the room gently spun. Regret washed over me — I was already starting to regret the fun I had at the winery yesterday. Bad move, Elise. Bad.
The hangover had hit me hard, but it didn’t stop me from cleaning up my mess. Marco had been incredibly kind to me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him having to tidy up after seeing the sorry state of this bathroom, once so pristine and sweet-smelling when I arrived two months ago.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. “Elise, are you alright?” Marco’s gentle voice did little to ease the pounding headache I was enduring. “Just a moment, Marco,” I replied hastily, not wanting him to see the less-than-charming state of my bathroom.
Once the bathroom was spotless and fragrant again, I left and joined Marco on the balcony. Ah, yes, the balcony where I had managed to create yet another mess. Why did I always seem to disrupt everything around me? Perhaps it had always been this way. Fifteen years of it. But that’s a story for another time.
“The neighbors next door asked me to give you this,” Marco said, handing me some cup noodles, sausage, and banana milk. I looked at him with curiosity.
“Joshua?” I asked tentatively. Marco responded with a small grin, teasing me about our brief encounter last night. My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as I recalled my sorry state. A twinge from my wound reminded me of its presence.
“I’ll get the first aid kit and change your bandage,” Marco said, his expression filled with concern.
“It’s fine, Marco. I can manage it later. For now, enjoy the coffee with me,” I reassured him with a smile. He nodded and returned to his seat.
As the coffee began to work its magic, I couldn’t ignore the weight of my irresponsibility. I had been avoiding the pain, numbing myself until I could forget everything. But certain memories always persisted — the image of his face, our joyful moments, the promises he kept and those he broke, his other woman, his lies, and my enduring pain.
“Does it still hurt?” Marco asked, taking a sip from his coffee cup, waiting for my reply.
“It’s just a small cut. I’ll be fine,” I replied casually.
“I meant…” Marco hesitated, his gaze filled with concern as he looked at me.
“Oh… I don’t know. I suppose it never really goes away,” I said, brushing off the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. Here I was again, pushing it all down. The urge to pour myself a glass of wine at seven in the morning surfaced, as if yesterday’s indulgence wasn’t enough.
I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever. People would ask questions. My family would persistently prod me. My friends would attempt to convince me to return home, try dating apps, and find new love. But it wasn’t that simple. Fifteen years of my life had been dedicated to someone I thought I would spend a lifetime with. My notions of fairy tales, stories of true love, even my favorite K-drama romances — all shattered with the words, “I don’t love you anymore. We’re done.”
I could have chosen to stay and fight for my place in his life. But why should I fight for something that wasn’t meant to be?
“I think I should give something as a token of gratitude to the people who helped us in the villa next door,” I said aloud, trying to quiet the endless thoughts swirling in my head. Marco nodded in agreement and even offered to assist me in preparing something for our neighbors.
“I should cook, shouldn’t I?” I asked Marco, scanning through my notes for the recipes I had saved for special occasions, like those date nights we used to have. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to banish thoughts of uttering his name. Marco waited patiently for me to gather myself.
“No rush, Elise. I think they’ll be here until next week,” he reassured me gently. I nodded gratefully and excused myself. I needed a moment alone. Perhaps a good cry was overdue.