Leon: Morning
(Leon is in denial. I've given up trying to understand him. I Just Type Here)
As the morning sun pours in through the window, I am forced to open my eyes and immediately regret it as the blinding light ignites a hangover that, until that moment had been kept at bay. I will never drink that much ever again, though I had made that promise to myself a thousand times and have been yet to keep it.
From somewhere in my aching head, snippets of memory from the night before float to the surface: soft skin, blond hair, crumpled bedsheets. A name forms on my lips with faint, desperate hope, but as soon as I allow myself to imagine that, I jump with shock. Why did my mind go there? Why that name? Why did I suddenly want it to be him, of all people? I must be mad...oh hell...
A scan of the room reminds me of the true nature of my now-departed visitor. My wallet lies on the floor where a hand dropped it, just in reach, and I pick it up and immediately know what has happened. I open it anyway. Empty.
"Bitch."
A moment later, the wallet leaves contact with the palm of my hand and connects with the wall instead.
"God damn whore."
I need a drink.