The alarm clock read 3:47 when Kelly surrendered to the lack of sleep that had kept her tossing most of the night. Beside her, Michelle snored lightly. It wasn’t the noise that was keeping Kelly awake, it was the unsettled feeling she’d had ever since their lovemaking of earlier. Kelly hadn’t really wanted more than a cuddle and sleep, but Michelle’s insistence and the copious amount of wine she’d had during the day and with dinner had combined to weaken her resistance.
It hadn’t, however, given her body the voltage it needed to finish what was started. After a painfully long time, and hoping the Michelle was too drunk to notice, she’d faked an orgasm – three, actually, as Michelle took the first one to mean that what she was doing was appreciated and redoubled her efforts – and then pretended to snuggle into Michelle’s shoulder and fall asleep.
Now she lay awake staring at the ceiling, sobriety returning to her mind with unwelcome speed. Her thoughts were a jumble of frustration, anger, and sadness; she longed for a simple solution and knew that none would present itself. Finally, she slipped from under the covers, reached for her robe, and went to the office.
Standing at the bookshelf, she found the self-help tome she had bought on her last trip to the bookstore. It was the latest in a line of such material she had brought home, and like its predecessors, hadn’t opened it beyond the first two pages. Now, she sank down into her desk chair and flipped through the contents, found the opening page, and began to read. It told of a life spent without regret, with dignity and confidence and grace. Kelly didn’t believe a word of it.
No life, she reasoned, could be so perfect. Hers wasn’t completely normal, but it couldn’t be so far from ideal. Alcohol was at least some sort of solution, not perfect perhaps, but better than the alternatives; though when she tried to think of alternatives, nothing came to mind. No matter, she just needed to work on reconnecting with Michelle, that was all.
Even as she worked to convince herself of this, something in the back of her mind was telling her no; no, the problem was with Kelly herself, with her surrendering control of her life to others, to the wine and the bourbon and whatever else she chose to block her emotions with. It was too painful to think about. She closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and went back to bed. Things would be better in the morning. They had to be.
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