It was the morning after the night before—always the roughest kind.
She came to slowly, like a film reel flickering back to life. For a brief moment, everything was quiet. Peaceful, even. But peace is a lousy liar, and it never lasts.
The memories crashed in, sharp and fast.
What had she done?
Why had it seemed like such a good idea at the time?
And more importantly—what was going to happen next?
She didn’t move. Just stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe beneath the weight of her own choices. The night had been wild, intoxicating—dangerous. Now daylight was peeling back the glamour, exposing the mess she’d made.
She’d have to face it soon.
The fallout. The questions. The looks.
But not yet. Not while the sheets were still warm and the shadows still clung to the corners of the room.
She needed a little more time.
Time to pretend. Time to regret. Time to gather her armor and light a cigarette before the world came knocking.
