The honeymoon period

I always said if I was to get married it would be a rushed, spontaneous, probably regretted decision. But that in its own way is romantic.

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My hair was greasy.

I hated having greasy hair, I wasn't the most hygenic of people but I hated having greasy hair and  I could never relax until I washed it.

This seemed a really silly thing to be sitting worrying about at a time such as this. I scooted more towards the edge of the bed which cause my nightdress ro rise up. I heard him move in his sleep and quickly pulled my nightdress back down. Again, its a bit silly of me to be so prudish when you take into account the events of last night.

I then noticed the amount of ash waiting to fall at the edge of my cigarette. I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to smoke in bed and breakfasts but judging from the cigarette burns on the sheets and the yellowing of the once white lace curtians I doubt the owners cared. That in mind, I dumped my ash out onto the floor.

My whole body ached, not from a hangover (which was surprising) I didn't really get those, mainly from walking, anxiety and alot of sex.

This is definatly not how I imagined the day after my wedding being, then again last night wasn't how I imagined my wedding going (that I remember of it.) Then again, I hadn't really imagined it much. I was one of lifes loners, always had been. The idea of being married to me meant being dependent on somebody and being dependent on somebody to me just meant disappointment.

So what was left? I didn't have much in the way of things. I had enough clothes to survive on and if I still had my shitty job I would still have shitty money to pay for shit. That was meaningless though, what did I have? My body didn't feel like mine, I felt old and sex has a way of making your body feel totally unfamiliar after wards. I didn't even have my own name anymore. I would have to get used to...whatever my name was now. Not to say I didn't know his name, my mind was just spinning too much to think right now.

I mean, he was a nice enough guy. He himself seemed like much of a loner so we kind of left each other alone alot of the time which I think we were both fine with because we knew we were there for each other so we weren't really alone. I guess I saw him as someone I could hold hands with through the darkness I had recently found myself in. Yes, thats right; Like someone to walk with. Not marry.

I'd been thinking so much I didn't even notice the tears that were now dripping down my cheeks and the fact my cigarette was no longer a cigarette it was just ash. 

I felt him stir again in the bed and prayed he would go back to sleep because I could not deal with this right now but I heard him sit up andrub his eyes. I waited for him to say something, make small talk. I dreaded that; I think he knew better because he sat there for a good five minutes and didn't say or do anything. He just watched me.

I then heard him lean over and light a cigarette, when he moved next to me at the edge of the bed I saw he'd lit two and he handed one to me. I took it and started smoking without looking up from the floor. I didn't want him to pity me or feel like he had to make things better because I knew better than to think he could make things better.

We sat there smoking not saying a word to each other and I could feel the silence gripping me by the throat and I felt like maybe I should say something but I had nothing to say and my mouth was far too dry to say anything anyways.

He went over to the window and wrestled it open, sending flakes of white paint all down the net curtians and flicked his cigarette out the window. He then sat next to me stroked my arm, so softly I couldn't help burst out crying. It was a relief though, that I didn't have to say anything, that I didn't have to pretend.

He seemed surprised by my sudden emotional breakdown and moved his hand around my back then embraced me tightly rubbing his face into my hair and he sat like that until I calmed down, he knew me too well, he knew I would have my cry for about 5 minutes then I'd be up to talking.

I turned to him and said "I'm so sorry" though I'm not sure what for, I mean I really didn't do anything wrong to him recently. Maybe I was apologizing for crying on him. Or apologizing for being such a mess of a person.

He just laughed and slid his hand down my arm, to my hand and squeezed it. The sun shone through the dusty, greasy curtians and I could feel its warmth. I smiled, inside and out.

"I need to wash my hair, I hate it being greasy" I said squeezing his hand back, and he smiled too.

 

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