Chapter 2: The Morning After

I spent the night in my sleeping bag on the couch. It wasn’t very comfortable. And I was too wound up to sleep much anyway. Cheryl Roberts was in my bed. My bed. And she was almost naked. How could I sleep knowing that? And what was the morning going to bring? What would she say when she woke up? I hadn’t done anything wrong to her, I didn’t think. But what would she accuse me of doing?

I got up fairly early, used the bathroom, and peeked into my bedroom. She was still in the position I had left her in. I closed the door, and quietly made some coffee. I found both Advil and Tylenol, and put some ice cubes into a glass and filled it with water. Then I sat down with a cup of coffee and waited.

About an hour after I got up, I heard movement in my bedroom. Then I heard her go into the bathroom, and a few minutes later I heard the toilet flush. I braced myself. What was she going to be like when she came out? What would she say? Would she be mad, or embarrassed, or grateful?

I didn’t have long to think this all over. The bathroom door opened, and she came quietly down the hall and around the corner into the kitchen. She was wearing the t-shirt I had left out for her. It came down far enough to cover her black panties, but only just. She looked pretty rough. She’d obviously tried to comb her hair, but it hadn’t had much effect. She blinked in the light, then saw me and froze.

“John? Is this your place? How did I get here? Why ... why was I ... naked ... in your bed?”

I took a deep breath.

“Cheryl. Come and sit down. Here’s some water and something for your head. You must be in agony. Do you want some coffee?”

She moved to the table and sat. I poured another cup of coffee for myself and one for her, then slid the cream and sugar her way. After taking a drink of the water, she opened the Advil, dumped out two of the capsules, and swallowed them, draining the glass as she did so. I took it from her, refilled it, and sat again, while she poured cream into her coffee and stirred it and took a sip. Then I started to talk.

“I was walking past the Thistle last night when you stumbled out the door and puked all over the sidewalk. You said you were trying to get home, where you’d be safe. You grabbed onto me, and I knew that if I let go of you, you’d just collapse in a heap. I didn’t know where you lived, and I didn’t want to rummage through your purse to find out. So I picked you up and brought you here.”

“You carried me here? From the Thistle? Did I know it was you?”

“Yes, I carried you. You were in no shape to walk. And yes, you knew me, at least at one point. You said ‘hi’ when you first saw me, and you called me by name. Do you remember anything at all about it?”

“I remember being in the Thistle. I’d gone there with my friend Candice, and then she left with someone. These three guys I didn’t know very well were chatting me up, and buying me drinks. I was having fun, but I suddenly realized that I might be in trouble when they started to talk about how hot I was and what they were going to do to me and how they wanted to make me ‘airtight’. I’m not sure I know exactly what that means, but I have a pretty good idea.

“They got up to go out back together for a smoke, and I decided it would be better if I got out of there. But when I stood up, I had trouble walking. I remember going outside onto the street, and throwing up. But I don’t remember anything else. What happened? Did you ... Did we...”

“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t. We didn’t. I carried you here. We had to stop a couple of times for you to barf. When I got you inside your dress was covered in ... well ... it wasn’t very clean. I was going to just put you to bed, but I couldn’t. It was disgusting.”

“I know. I saw it in the bathroom.”

“So I took it off of you. And then I discovered your bra had some on it too. You must have puked down the front of your dress. So I took that off too, and laid you down on the bed. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow. I washed you up a bit, then rolled you onto your side in case you threw up again, and covered you up. I spent the night on the couch.”

“And that is all that happened? You carried me home, stripped off my icky clothes, and put me almost naked into your bed? You didn’t do anything else?”

I hesitated.

“Ok, so I have a confession to make. I really enjoyed washing your boobs. And when you were all tucked in, before I left you, I kissed you. On the forehead. I shouldn’t have done that. And I am sorry. But that is all that I did. I swear.”

She smiled at me, weakly. “John, I believe you. Don’t worry. I’m not accusing you of anything. If you say you didn’t do anything to me, then you didn’t. I don’t think that washing puke off me counts as assault. And nonconsensual kisses are pretty tame, when the girl is out cold. But I don’t know many guys around the school who wouldn’t have tried to do something more than that with me, if they found me in that situation. So why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I wanted to. I’ve wanted to be with you like that for a very long time. But I couldn’t take advantage of you when you were passed out. To be honest, it didn’t seem like it would be that much fun. And maybe ... and maybe losers like me don’t take advantage of drunk girls. Maybe only ‘real men’ do that.”