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A Transient Affair (A work of fiction)

I wake up disoriented in a dark room that I don't recognize. I try to assess the surroundings as my eyes adjust to the blackness. I hear quiet breathing coming from a girl lying on the bed next to me. Her blond hair, a stark contrast to the gloom, accentuates her features. God, she's pretty. I wish I could remember her name. I know she told me, but I couldn't hear half of our conversation over the raucous music in the club. I realize that I don't know any of the information that should be established long before you become intimate with another person. Sudenly, all that required knowledge is reduced to nothing more than mere afterthoughts.

I find my mind wondering about her. What's she really like? Is she smart, funny, honest? Does she do this kind of thing all the time? I know that this is my first one night stand, but is it a part of her routine? What's she going to think about all this in the morning? Will she feel cheap and used, or rush me out without even giving me the courtesy of an awkward kiss goodbye? I want to hold her, but I'm not even sure about the rules on that. Christ, when did everything get so complicated?

I glance over to the nightstand that's on my side of the bed and look at the plaque that's resting on the top. It's made out of clay, with two little handprints under the word "Mommy". This girl is somebody's mother. I feel even worse about this whole thing.

I sit up, throw on my jeans and walk out onto her patio hoping that the crisp September air will help to clear my head. It doesn't. The skyline shines brightly like a beacon over all it's denizens that are sleeping next to loved ones, strangers, or alone altogether. In my head I try to justify the events that lead me to the now, which only makes me feel worse about it all. Trying to blame it on the alchohol would just cheapen it even more, rob it of the passion that would make it seem somehow more acceptable. I don't know...

Is this what we've all been reduced to? Seeking solace in the arms of stranges just so we can throw them aside in the morning because we're all afraid to get attached? I don't understand how the people that do this every weekend live with themselves. I look back and watch her sleep through the window. I haven't got a clue what the morning will bring to us. Will we see each other again? Will this turn into something meaningful, or will we just try to force it so that we can feel better about it all and save face? I open the sliding glass door and enter the room, knowing that all these questions will be answered in time.