Page 15 of Little Blue

The first thing I see is a rich, brown wood ceiling that arches high. For a moment, I just lay there, blinking in confusion at the beautifully stained timber that’s replaced the water damaged sight I’ve been greeted with first thing, every morning, for the last year and a half.

Where am I?

My body aches, as though I’ve been hit with a violent flu. My head pounds.

My mouth is so dry, I think I could drink a pool of water and still be parched.

Focusing on my body, I do my best to wiggle my toes, then my fingers.

I’m not paralyzed. I just feel heavy. Too heavy.

Where am I?

The lighting is dim and warm. The bed I’m lying on is the comfiest thing I’ve ever lain on in my twenty-one years. The comforter is plush and black.

It’s not mine. Going on how soft it is, like liquid in fabric form, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s got a thread count of a bajillion.

I’m not in a hospital, either.

There’s no hospital with sheets like these and a ceiling like that.

The violent throb in my head when I try to pull myself up has me laying back down against a cloud-soft pillow. If I weren’t so obviously not in my space, I’d moan in pleasure.

Where am I?

At my movement, a chirpy sound I recognize precedes the feeling of little paws traveling up the length of my body. But of course, he must walk on my body. Like every morning when my alarm blares, Lucy is there to walk the plank of me, before he shoves his little nose into mine.

I moan when Lucy bumps me with his nose, turning my head to the side as I do my very best to lift my hand to give my boy a pet.

Then, I realize that I’m not in a room I recognize—not in my bed—under my blankets—and Lucy is here with me.

How? What happened?

Did I get hurt? I’m so sore, it wouldn’t surprise me to find I’ve been hit by a bus.

Or, considering the softer than heaven bed I’m in, maybe it was one of those massive, armoured SUV’s that billionaires get chauffeured around in. Maybe Mr. Money Bags in the back seat felt bad about his beast of a vehicle hitting me and brought me to his overly comfortable guest room to let me heal.

Lucy meows, shattering the fantasy. If someone hit me with their car, they wouldn’t have known to bring Lucy along.

What happened?

Moaning, I do my very best to sit up in the bed. The room spins. I blink hard and slow, my eyes struggling to focus through the dim light. Lucy pushes into my lap, clearly hungry for grub. How long has it been since he’s eaten? How long have I been here?

Where is here?

With another garbled moan, I press my fingertips into my eyes.

My head is pounding.

“You’re awake.” A low, male voice sounds softly in the space to my left. I freeze, my fingertips still in my sockets.

My mind races. I’m in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room—and there is a man in the room with me.

The last man I remember having any contact with is Hank—when he asked me out.

Oh no. No, no, no.

I’m in his bed! My body feels as though I’ve been hit by a train, and although I don’t drink—I figure—if I did, this could be what a hangover feels like.

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