I'm Laying in a Bed That's Not Mine...

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I'm laying in a bed that's not mine, next to a person I don't know very well. I'm dressed, just not in my own clothes. I'm not wearing my jeans- someone else's pajama pants. They're rough and new and feel like cardboard against my legs. I shift to look at the clock- 10:04.
What a night. I smell like smoke and can still taste the liquor on my breath. Breathe deep. Realize what I've done. Cover my eyes and hope it's a dream. Open. Nope, I'm still here, laying in a bed that's not mine, next to a person I don't know very well, not wearing the clothes I came in with. Another glance at the clock: 10:05.
The sun is creeping through the closed blinds. There's someone else in the room- another body I don't know very well. But that's okay, because nothing happened with him. He's safe from whatever is going to happen, I think.
My mind is racing with what I've done. I recall the events of the night: getting ready, working, lying, smoking, drinking, kissing, getting kicked out, coming here, smoking more, drinking more, talking, messing up.
I remember saying, "We can not tell him."
The only thing on my mind is him. He trusted me, not the person I don't know very well. "Be good," he said. A quick kiss and I was gone. I don't know whether or not he'll be uspet, whether or not he'll even want to speak to me. I can't believe what I've done.
11:03: time for everyone to wake up again.
In forty minutes everyone is wearing proper clothes. I have my jeans and t-shirt, he has his jeans and t-shirt, and the other body has his jeans and someone else's t-shirt. After a glass of water and a splash of cologne, we're in the car.
As we drive down the highway to the next town, I light up one of his cigarettes. I don't know the brand, but it's not very good. It's rough in my throat, but I wasn't thinking about that. Be good.
It takes everything to not cry with that echoing in my mind.
He drops off the body I don't know first, even though the school is right in front of us. I flick a bit of ash of the cigarette through an open window. I have to keep my eye open for people who might see me– smoking, first of all, and second, with him.
11:56. "What are you going to tell him?" he asks.
I shake my head and answer, "I don't know."
"Tell him we kissed. That's all that really happened."
I shrug my shoulders and rub my eyes, taking a drag on the cigarette after I do so. I feel terrible and the tears are about to come. In as strong a voice as I can, I ask, "Will he be mad?"
"He'll be upset, because he's him," he promises. "But he'll get over it."
Into the curved druve of the front. My friends are already just walking in the door. Noon, right on time.
He stops the car and kisses me. I pull away after a couple seconds. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that again," he whispers.
Mixed feelings suddenly erupt in me. I kiss him again and then get out of the car and watch him speed away.
I walk inside the school, hoping no one will notice my dark eyes and the smell of smoke on my clothes and hair, knowing they will.
Upstairs, I give a silent cry while I'm working.
Be good.





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