I slowly awoke to a ray of sunlight gleaming through the window piercing my eyelids. I turned over, sheets a mess, trying to shun the light as best I could. My hip hurt, I thought for a moment. After I was settled I noticed it was still light, the sun still beating down into the room.
Funny, usually when I’m facing this side of my bedroom my bleak walls are a delight. I groggily began to open my eyes, curious as to why so much light was around me.
I felt a surge of pain shoot up through my head as I gradually gained full sight of my surroundings. Why was there a window on each side of the room? And why was there a smell of musk fulfilling my nostrils?
“This isn’t my apartment,” I said aloud. Alarmed, I sat up. Too quickly, in fact, as my head began to pound from the previous night’s liquor.
Under the one window to the left I noticed a mahogany dresser, drawers half open with a few clothes spilling out. Books were scattered atop with crumpled papers all around.
The walls were a deep burgundy. A mirror and a few pieces of decor adorned the walls. The pieces looked as if they had historical importance, like the person who bought them had a hidden love they wanted only those special to them to know.
I shifted my weight up to look around the other side, and all I could feel was my hip crying for me to move back into my previous position. “What did I do?” I reached down and felt my left side, it was tender to the touch. I took a peak, it was definitely bruised.
As I was trying to put together the pieces of the night my eyes shifted to the right. There was a small closet with two sliding doors. I got out of bed to take a...