Steve rolled over, his arm falling across the empty bed beside him. It had been just a week since Ronda had dumped him, and he missed her every night. They had only been together for a few months but after having had a complete dry spell for so long before her Steve thought Rhonda just might be the one.
The clock on the bedside table clicked over to four twenty seven. Steve wasn’t sure if it was right but it was good enough. He’d been on a bit of a bender the night before with Matt, but even before they’d really got started Matt came back from the dance-floor to tell Steve he was leaving as he’d met ‘Miss November’. Matt seemed to have no problems getting involved with women, but it rarely lasted more than a month, thus ‘Miss November’.
When Steve had got home sometime around one o’clock he was totally wasted. Stumbling down the corridor he could hear Matt and his current companion clearly through Matt’s bedroom door. Steve wondered what Miss November was like. She sounded like fun. All of a sudden Steve felt an undeniable urge to purge himself of the kebab he had hastily consumed on the way home. Holding his hand over his mouth to delay the inevitable he rushed to the bathroom, emptying most of the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Quietly he slipped into his bedroom very much the worse for wear and fell into a drunken torpor.
Despite the hazy fog that was clouding Steve’s mind and late night kebab that had left a lingering taste in his mouth, Steve’s bladder was most insistent. He had tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but eventually threw back the duvet and slipped his legs over the side of the bed. When his feet hit the cold tile floor he had a momentary shock which made peeing all the more urgent.
Steve opened his bedroom door and stuck his head out to see that the coast was clear. He didn’t want to bump into either Matt or Miss November naked or feeling the way he did at that moment. He ran, on tiptoes, to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.
After he’d relieved his bladder he decided to clean his teeth quickly. The taste of the previous night’s ‘dinner’ was making him feel worse. Looking in the mirror as he brushed he made himself a promise.
“Enough,” he told the other him in the mirror. “Time to clean up your act, Stevey boy. And this time remember our little chat in the morning.” He winked at his reflection.
Listening for anyone in the hallway and deciding the coast was clear Steve unlocked the door and opened it. He stepped into the hallway and headed towards his bedroom on tiptoes again, both to be quiet and minimise the contact with the cold floor. He glanced into the living room, stopped for a second; heart racing, then dived into his bedroom.
Grabbing a pair of jogging bottoms off the floor and a t-shirt from the chair Steve quickly got dressed, turned straight round and went back to the living room. That same scent of perfume lingered. In the corner b the window the rocking chair was gently and almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth.
As Steve had passed the living room on his way back from the bathroom he had seen that girl again, sitting in that rocking chair again, humming that tune again, but this time she had a book in her hands. Could she really be reading by the light of the streetlamp outside?
At almost the same moment as Steve had glanced in she had looked up as if sensing his presence, surprise showing clearly on her face. Well Steve was naked. Now, dressed, he had come back to find out who she was. She had disappeared again. Steve felt sure that she must have been Miss November. Perhaps she and Matt were rekindling something they had started, what was it six months ago? Was Miss November also Miss April or May?
Taking in the intoxicating scent once more Steve returned to his bedroom. His imagination had been piqued for a moment, but as soon as he slipped back into bed the tiredness took over. Steve fell back into a drunken sleep until late the next morning.
Slightly before midday Steve awoke to the unmistakable smell of bacon. He guessed that Matt had made his guest breakfast. He threw the duvet back. He wanted some of that delicious smelling feast himself. Seeing that he was already clothed Steve suddenly remembered his nighttime encounter. He needed to go meet Matt’s friend.
“Any of that left for me?” Steve asked as he stuck his head around the kitchen door.
Matt looked up, “Plenty. You know I always cook for a dozen. Bloody hell look at you. Good night was it?”
Steve was still in the doorway, confused. In the seat opposite Matt sat a well proportioned blond. This was not the girl Steve had seen during the night.
“Steve, Sandra. Sandra, Steve,” Matt performed the introductions.
“Sandra,” Steve mumbled, half in question and half in greeting.
“You okay, mate, get yourself sat down, you’re looking worse now than when you first looked in here.” Matt kicked out another of the chairs and stood to get Steve some breakfast..
Steve sank into the chair. For a moment he considered the thought that the night’s encounter had been nothing but a strange but sweet dream. However, if that were true why was he dressed?
If the girl in the rocking chair from last night hadn’t been Miss November, and it was clear they were not the same person, who was she?
This story follows on from a previous prompt.
‘Who’s that girl?’ (Click for the link)