Josh woke to the sound of a drill being used just outside his window. He raised his head off the pillow, and felt nausea creep up his throat. It took a moment to realize that the drilling was in his head, not outside. The after effects of a noisy gig; he should be used to it by now. His head felt hot to the touch and he could feel beads of sweat forming under his hairline. He groaned and reached across the bed.

He was alone. He laid back against the pillow, loathe to face this day.

No Anna. A mixed cacophony of feelings washed over him.

Was he relived that she had not shared his bed? Or had he missed her? An image suddenly appeared in his head, a memory of last night that he so wanted to forget – Anna and some random bloke, laughing together as if they were lovers; his arm around her in that familiar way. A wave of jealousy washed over him (at least it wasn’t nausea this time!) and he felt sick.

He crawled out of bed, and made his way to a sink in the corner of the room. He vaguely remembered checking himself into the pub, but it was so foggy as to be surreal. He retched into the sink, and was pleased that it was just bile. He washed his face and pulled on his crumpled jeans.

Outside the room, the corridor was silent. Doors stood either side of him like silent sentries. The carpet was a garish mix that looked like a throw back from the seventies. This time there was no smell coming from the kitchen; just silence. Stumbling downstairs, he entered a small dining room and saw Luke at a table under the window.

‘Josh! Get yourself over here! There’s some tea in the pot, come and sit down.’

Luke had a cereal bowl in front of him, with the dregs of Weetos lining its bottom, and some milk.

‘No fried breakfast this time, boyo. We have to make do with toast and cereal.’ Luke lent forward conspiratorially. ‘Hey, what’s the news on last night then? I heard from a good source that you attacked Jazz? He’s real mad at you for trying to get between that Sophie and him. He’s fancied her for ages – didn’t you know?’

Josh groaned as Luke’s Welsh lilt rabbited on and on. No, he didn’t know! He poured himself some tea and sipped the warm liquid.

What had he done this time? 😦

Copyright Suzanne Bowditch, 2016

 

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