Valentina
Something smells good. Well, that’s what my brain tells me. I inhale, and a mix of spice and pepper hits me. I try to wet my lips, but my mouth and throat are as dry as sandpaper. I try to raise my head from the pillow, only for a stabbing pain to pierce through my head. I move and realize that I’m naked. My eyes widen, but flashes of last night appear in front of my eyes, and I relax. I squeeze my eyes shut, the darkness pressing in, and sift through last night’s memories, a jumble of images flickering behind my eyelids. I remember everything up to the point when I told Clara that I was going to dance for my husband. I remember trying to dance on the pole. I smile when I recall how worked up he was because of that, though I can’t remember what triggered him to put me over his shoulder. He drove us home, and after that… What happened after that?
I exhale when my bladder urges me to get up. I move slowly, fighting the pain, and once I’m on my feet, I hurry to the bathroom.
I try not to look at myself in the mirror because I know I’ll look awful with all my makeup smudged under my eyes. I probably resemble a panda. I yawn and finish washing my hands. When I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my eyes widen. I blink a few times; maybe I’m dreaming. Still the same. I lean forward and inspect my face. How the hell did it get cleaned? With furrowed brows, I exit the bathroom, and with an empty bladder, I can feel the sting between my legs. It’s a good sting, like the one after the wedding night, but less sore. My eyes land on the messy bed and Gabriel’s clothes neatly folded on the chair beside mine, which are also neatly folded. Flashes of Gabriel fucking me appear in my mind, and my jaw drops.
“Fuck!” I told him to fuck me. Did I beg him? “Oh, fuck!”
I feel like shit, and I have no will in me to shower or to dress. My eyes fall on Gabriel’s shirt, and I reach for it, putting it on. That will do. I pull it up to my nose and inhale his scent, but it mixes with the food aroma, and my stomach complains. I turn on my heels and pad down the stairs toward the delicious smell.
At the kitchen entrance, I stop, wide-eyed, my jaw falling to the floor at the sight in front of me. My husband is making breakfast, half-naked. I gawk at his back, studying the art on his upper body. There is a bird on his back, connecting with the roses on his shoulder. A skull and roses wrap around his chest and shoulder. It’s not that I haven’t seen them before. I know every single tattoo he has; I saw them on our wedding night. Only then, I was more focused on enjoying whatever he was doing to me. “Good, you're up. It was about time.”
I wake up from my trance and blink before I take a step inside. Of course he knew I was standing here, even with his back to me. His very toned and attractive back, where I can see every muscle. I tilt my head to the side, trying to figure out if I have a back fetish.
“Are you going to keep standing there?” He turns with a skillet in his hand. “Come, you need to eat.”
He doesn’t need to tell me because my stomach does. I follow him to where he places an omelet and stop in front of him.
“You're here,” I say. “He raises an eyebrow. “You're never here when I wake up,” I clarify.
“I know.” He pulls the chair for me and prompts me to sit.
I comply, even though I feel irritated and satisfied at the same time. Something isn’t right.
“Pulling the chair out for me, cooking me breakfast, not leaving before I’m awake.” Hmm. I tilt my head to the side and flinch at the pain in my head.
He pours some green juice and places it in front of me with a white pill. “This is for your hangover.” I take it from him and almost choke at the awful taste.
“This is disgusting.” I grimace.
His eyes narrow, soft but condemning. “You should have thought about that before you drank until you were trashed.”
I shrug. “I was having fun.”
“If fun is drinking and being incoherent, then you will become an alcoholic and die of liver failure.”
I cross my hands in front of me. “Wow, are you some kind of moral police?”
He shrugs. “No. I’m just stating facts.”
My shoulders drop. “Whatever. I don’t have the strength for this discussion.”
A satisfied grin appears on his face. “Better. Now, eat.”
I roll my eyes and take the first bite of the omelet. Hunger takes over, and ignoring Gabriel, I eat the damn thing in a minute. I wish I could start every day with one of these.
“Did you eat anything before you consumed all that alcohol?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Dad, I didn’t.” I look at him. “Did you stay here to scold me for what I did last night? If so, just don’t.”
“No, I’m not trying to do that. But maybe you need it.” He steps to my side and leans on the table. “We need to set some ground rules, Valentina.”
My eyes shoot to his. “What rules?”
“Rule number one, if you're going to drink, you're going to eat before.” I nod, only because it really makes sense and because I know the consequences. “Second, I would like to be informed if you plan on going to the club.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? Do you plan on letting some groupie put her hands on you again? Are you a cheater?” My voice is dripping with accusation.
