Fallen Angel - A Short Story, Page 2

  *****

  She woke up alone. It was dark, and she was in bed, naked. She sat up and felt the mattress next to her. Cold cotton, unslept in. She felt her breasts which were slightly tender, but otherwise normal. Had she dreamed everything about the previous night? The illuminated dial on her bedside clock said 2.04 am. Unwilling to turn on the light, she groped for her silk robe and put it on, then padded out into the living room. It was empty. The wine she had drunk the evening before was still on the coffee table, and his glass of water, but he was not there. It was almost as if she had imagined him.

  Idiot! She cursed herself as she went back into the bedroom. No doubt she had collapsed into a drunken slumber and he had left her in disgust. It would not be the first time that had happened, though she had not made that mistake for ten years or more. She slumped back into bed and forced back tears. Women her age did not cry over strange men. They squared their chins and vowed to learn from their mistakes.

  Yet she hugged her pillow and bit back the tears and rocked back and forth, trying to gain comfort from that simple motion.