Daphne
When Daphne came to, the first thing she was aware of was the pounding of her head.
Goddamn, she thought. Way too much to drink last night.
At first, her vision was bleary, and she couldn’t quite remember just what she’d done.
Then, when she saw the sleeping form of the man on the couch with her, it all came back with perfect clarity.
Oh no, she thought, her eyes moving over the man’s tattoos. Did I seriously sleep with a fucking biker last night?
She heaved herself off of the couch, careful not to disturb her partner. As she walked quietly to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, the events of the previous night played through her mind in fast-forward bursts. She remembered Margaret, she remembered the bar, she remembered having drink after drink, and she remembered … him.
Drinking down the water in deep gulps, her mouth dry and sticky, she tried to remember anything about the man she’d slept with last night. But all she could bring to mind was the vague image of how he looked, coupled with that strange sense of familiarity that she couldn’t shake as she spent time with him. But the specifics of his face just didn’t come to mind.
And the sex wasn’t too bad, she thought, a sly smile forming on her face. Wait, who am I kidding—it was fucking amazing.
As she continued to drink her water, her eyes settled on the man sleeping on the couch. He was shirtless, but still wearing his pants. And right above his waist, on the left side of the small of his back, was a jagged line. Daphne moved closer and saw that it was a long scar formed over a ragged wound. Her eyes hung on the scar, the thing striking her with the same familiarity that she’d felt the night before.
Where the hell have I seen a scar like that before? she wondered.
Saving a little bit of water in her glass, she walked quietly into the bathroom and searched around for a bottle of pain reliever. Finding one, she dumped out a couple of blue pills and tossed them back. But as soon as she swallowed them, it hit her—Xander had a scar like that.
Daphne set down her glass so hard on the bathroom sink that she worried for a moment that it might break. She rushed into the living room and stopped a few feet away from the man. Kneeling down, she inspected the scar carefully. Sure enough, it was the same scar as Xander’s.
Is this some kind of coincidence? she wondered. Or …
She turned towards the rest of the apartment. In the clear light of day, she could now see that the place was filled with many of the same photos, decorations, and knick-knacks that Xander owned when they dated. She darted around the living room, picking up one thing or another, realizing that she’d seen so many of these things before.
Impossible, she thought. There’s no way I was so drunk last night that I’d hook up with Xander and not even recognize him. There’s just no way.
But before she could think the matter over too much more, the man on the couch shifted as he slept, rolling over to face her, his eyes still shut.
Daphne gasped as she finally was able to lay eyes on the man in clear lighting. Just as she had when she’d inspected the scar, Daphne moved in close, squinting her eyes as she looked the man over.
Holy fuck, she thought. It’s him. It’s really him.
She realized just why she hadn’t been able to recognize him—the thick beard on his face, along with the long hair on top of his head, covered up nearly all of his features. And he was buffer than he’d ever been; Daphne guessed that he’d put on at least thirty pounds of muscle since she’d seen him last. Daphne remembered giving him shit every now and then about being a little scrawny, his slim frame and shaved head making him look more like a skinhead punk than a tough biker. But now, as she regarded him on the couch, she saw that he’d grown into the man he was. Beefy, hairy, and goddamned gorgeous, he was the man that she’d always thought he might one day be.
Then, reality dawned on her. As fascinated as she was by the father of her son lying right there, looking almost like someone else entirely, she remembered with perfect clarity the reason why she’d left him.
And she knew she needed to get out, right now, before he woke up.
Daphne looked down at her body, realizing that she wasn’t wearing anything more than her skirt. She spotted her bra on the other side of the room and quickly put it on. But when she found her panties, she grunted in frustration when she realized that they were ripped beyond wear. She tossed them aside.
These were my sexiest fucking pair, she thought, stomping her bare foot on the floor. Thirty dollars, right down the drain.
She didn’t waste any more time getting out of there. She put on the rest of her clothes, gathered her things, and rushed out of the front door, taking one last look at the still-sleeping Xander before shutting it quietly behind her.
Soon, she was back out onto the street. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she called up an Uber and sighed with relief when she saw that it was only a few minutes away. After a little time spent tapping her foot in impatience, the white sedan finally pulled up to the sidewalk. Daphne hurried into it, relief washing over her as she realized she was home free.
But as the car pulled down the road, Daphne couldn’t help but turn to look at the apartment disappearing into the distance, a strange longing in her heart.