7:35. Right. Where the fuck am I? Why is it so early?

Jump. Another crash shatters through the air. That's why I'm awake.

Open eyes half way. Fuck: too much light. It tries to rip through the fog tumbling around in my head. Ok, breathe. Ok. Think. What happened?

First memory to surface from the swamp of half-baked thoughts; I'm lying on my back watching him. Him…? No, no face comes into the light. Him…Him…Suddenly hand strokes, fingertip touches, cigarette laughs and cum faces flash up along with the memory. The scent of expensive cologne and beer fused together and stubble…he had stubble.

Slowly, slowly open eyes. No curtains drawn excuse the excess of white-sky light flooding in. It's a cold grey morning outside. The air is warm in here; too warm, stale almost.

I'm on the floor; mattress. I turn over and see chocolate wrappers glinting around the room. I ate five of them; he paid. He fed me, I remember now. Mon Cherie liquors…I remember now. I swirl my tongue round my mouth; but all I taste is dried out wine-breath, the chocolate must have been first. The mess buried across the room is daunting almost. Empty condom cases, cigarette butts and beer tops glint at me like jewellery on the bedroom floor. Bedroom? Yes. I remember now; his.

Eyes dart upwards onto the walls. A rumble of last night's whatevers stirs threateningly inside my stomach. Reflex action brings my hand over my mouth. Phone numbers scrawled up and down and overlapping over his light blue walls. Notes, dates and shopping lists buried underneath. No names. I search for my own string of numbers to be hung up in shame like the rest. Tensely I scan the wall, thankfully nothing so far.

Crash. It comes again. Drifting in through the window; it's a car noise. Some ones car being fixed? My head throbs; who the fuck cares. Anger bubbles; why am I here?

Shit. I hold on tight to my breath. Shit shit shit; something is stirring besides me. It's him. Big warm body. Larger then me; strong. Shit. A hand snakes it way across my waist. Shit. The hand is his; I recognise it now. Memories: Cherie liquor in its fingers; stroking my spine; touching my cheek and clinging onto my hips. Suddenly I relax. It's him, its ok. He's ok. I breathe out and reflex action brings my body snuggling deeper into his.

Something catches my eye in the corner. A mess of scarlet red crumpled fabric- I recognise it as my own dress. Damn, crinkles in satin; what a bitch. Then I freeze. Above my discarded clothes, a "call me" stains the magic marker spelling out my number.

Oh well. Something tells me he won't return my calls anyway.