The Breakfast

My eyelids flutter, then close again. I drag my tongue along the roof of my mouth and smack my dry lips together. Ick. My mouth is a desert. My brain thumps in my skull, a gift left by the shots I drank last night. Opening one eye, I blink until the blurry lines of the world sharpen. Yawning, I haphazardly reach for the water bottle on my nightstand. I unscrew the lid and sip it. It wets my tongue and stimulates my saliva, but it doesn't help the dehydrated state of my body. I swallow and the sensation makes my bladder constrict. I squeeze my thighs together to ease the tightening feeling, but it doesn't help. Replacing the lid on my bottle, I drop it to the floor and slip from the bed, careful not to wake Seth. I scoop his crumpled blue shirt from the floor and pull it over my head as I tiptoe from the room. When I return, Seth is sitting up, my sheets low on his naked hips, so low his muscular thigh juts out. He blinks at me, then points at the alarm clock on my bedside.