My head felt like it was splitting, and my mouth was dry and furry. Not wanting to wake up, I squeezed my eyes closed again, willing myself to go back to sleep so that I could be spared from the discomfort. I rolled onto my side, and almost jumped out of my skin when I felt it – a leg, against my leg. My eyes snapped open, and for a moment all the sensations of my hangover were forgotten as I remembered why I was in this room, and then my nausea returned with a vengeance. All of a sudden the last thing I wanted was to go back to sleep. I wanted to get out – to slip away as quietly as I could, and to not have to talk to him. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I began to inch towards the edge of the bed, and then I swung my feet down to the floor and carefully slipped out from under the covers. The cold and slightly damp morning air made me shiver. I started looking around the room for my clothes, but my eyes were frequently drawn back to the figure still asleep in bed. It was difficult to see him clearly – he was lying on his front, the white duvet pulled halfway up over his head so all that showed was some messy light brown hair and an eyebrow.
