Sunday morning arrived sooner than Markus had anticipated. The alarm clock set to 5 am went off and he slapped it tiredly, hearing it fall off of his nightstand and clatter to the floor next to an empty bottle of Jameson whiskey. He could barely remember anything from last night and wondered how he had gotten home.
Where was Cynthia? His eyes opened wider remembering what he had done. Pain jolted through him as he recalled the last time he ever looked at Cynthia. He recalled the terror in her eyes as she fled from his truck. His hand rubbed at his eyes and dragged down his face with a sigh, leaning back against the pillows with remorse filling his features.
He didn't notice that he wasn't alone until a young, raven haired girl rolled over from the other side of his bed, moaning tiredly and draped her arm loosely over his stomach. He could smell that she was human. She wasn't very pretty, and not usually his type of girl. Beneath her black hair, he saw an array of rainbow colored strands, her skin was pale as flour, and her lips were smeared with black lipstick. Her eyes would've been lovely, if they weren't caked with mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow all in black. She looked as though she had just turned twenty-one. Too young for his taste, he thought, but it was a little hypocritical to think that now. He recalled now that he had met her at the bar he went to shortly after he had dropped off Cynthia.
Mother Luna, what did I do last night
?
He lifted her face up gently at the chin, and eased her over onto her side of the bed. She didn't smell like him, nor was there any trace of his sexual scent upon her. This greatly confused him. Why would he bring home a girl and not pound her deeply with all of his frustrations? Lightly, he shook her awake. She grunted and opened her eyes, not pleased to be awakened and seemed personally put off. Tiredly, she sat up.
"What? Do I have to leave now? Is
she
coming over?" Her tired tone bit at him.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." The confusion was as plain as day on Markus' face.
"Wow, you
really
must've been drunk then," she yawned and stretched her arms over her head, her naked body drifting back against her pillow before she explained further. His eyes went to her breasts, finding them well endowed for the tiny body she had.
"You invited me back here to your place, and we were really getting into it there for a few moments. Your dick is the biggest I've ever felt, by the way." She smiled and stroked her hand down his chest, and he snared her wrist before she could slip it beneath the blanket draped at his lap. She pouted.
"And..?"
"And you kept calling out another girl's name, even when I tried to correct you. I smacked you, and you threw me off you. Then you passed out," she paused, "so is
Cynthia
coming over now?"
He took in the facts and stared at the ceiling in silence while the human female waited expectantly for a response. He shook his head and got out of the bed, contemplating what to do about Cynthia. Obviously drinking himself into oblivion didn't help to forget about her. He wanted to see her, except that he wasn't even sure at this point that she would even answer the door if he went over there. He pulled everything out of his discarded dress pants on the floor, finding her condo keys in one of the pockets. He knew this was the only way around her refusal, but even with that, he was still pissed about what she said.
I couldn't help it
.
The words burned in his mind and filled him with rage as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
He turned on the water to fill the sink and looked in the mirror at his own reflection, staring at himself while thinking on things. He could faintly see nail marks across his chest and face, and black lipstick smeared across his mouth obviously from the girl last night. Pulling in a deep breath, he slowly focused his regenerative ability to heal the marks completely. Splashing water on his face, he woke up a little more and wiped away the remaining lipstick from his face. Yet, he still couldn't think clearly of what to do about Cynthia.
Should I forgive her?
The question plagued his mind as he locked the bathroom door and turned on the shower.
Wet from showering, he stepped out of the bathroom as naked as the day he was born. The girl on the bed moaned pleasingly at the view, crawling lithely on the bed and out from under the sheets just as naked as he was. He noticed right away that she had a curved body much like Cynthia's and understood why he had brought her home. Sighing softly, he slipped on a pair of boxers, then jeans. Looking over his shoulder at her, he searched the floor and found what he thought to be her skirt. He tossed it on the bed in front of her.
"Get dressed and I'll take you home." She didn't like hearing that, but still complied with putting on her clothes.
I need more answers
, he thought to himself. There was something sincere that he recalled about Cynthia's words when she tried to reason with him. What if he had listened just for a moment? Why didn't he? Why was it that with any other girl he could take the time to listen before telling them off, and with Cynthia he found himself winding out of control like some hormonal teenager?