Breaking & Entering
Max awoke with a groan. The piercing sunlight that danced between the blinds had made its way across the bed, bringing him to sit up and grab at the throbbing pain in his head. His eyes were fuzzy and his mouth was dry in a way that seemed only achievable through ingesting sand. Weirder still was the mystery of his pants and underwear which somewhat concerningly seemed to have disappeared. It wasn’t until his eyes finally adjusted to the morning light that his severely hungover brain began to suggest that perhaps the bed he found himself in, was not his own. Sure enough, the light snores of a bare-backed, long-haired stranger beside him confirmed his suspicions.
“Fuuuck.”
Max wiped his face and quietly slipped out from the bed. Having practiced this delicate dance many times, he knew the considerations that went into pulling this off –– not too forceful with moving the comforter, don’t shift your weight too suddenly, get what you can, and exit the room before doing anything else. He found his jeans tucked under a pile of pillows but his underwear was still missing in action. Max tip-toed quietly towards the door, letting out a sigh of relief as he silently twisted the bedroom doorknob and slipped into the hallway.
The pain in his head was almost as disorienting as the apartment itself. Where the fuck am I? Its chic decor looked old-world, slightly Victorian even. Few apartments in the city had a skyline view, a stone fireplace, and a balcony. Whoever the naked stranger was in the adjacent bedroom, she had some deep pockets. Despite the opulence, evidence of Max’s romp was scattered throughout. The place looked like a warzone for drunken, passionate sexual escapades – an empty bottle of wine here, a bra over there, etc. Flashes of the previous night started to take shape but they were far from fully materialized. Just fuzzy images of himself and a blurry stranger sloppily bouncing from surface to surface. The harder he tried to put the pieces together, the more his brain rejected the premise. At the moment, it only knew pain, thirst, and hunger.
As the pain intensified, so did the cries to satiate Max’s dry mouth. He limped over to the sink and with no knowledge of the kitchen’s cabinetry, stuck his head under the running faucet. The cool water provided a brief respite from his thoughts of survival. The pain in his head remained but with his immediate thirst quenched, Max could once again focus on piecing together what happened, where he was, and how to get home. He reached into his pockets.
“Goddammit,” he muttered. “Where the fuck is my phone?”
Max looked around the kitchen and found nothing but trays of potpourri and a collection of quirky teapots.
Damn, how old is this woman? He thought.
A rather strange but plausible profile started to take shape in his mind. He remembered attending the party, he remembered going to the next bar, and the next one. From there it got a bit blurry, but it was possible that somewhere in the drunken deluge he came across a wealthy, mature woman who enjoyed the company of a strapping young man such as Max. It wasn’t necessarily his modus operandi but wasn’t far fetched either. The past two years felt like a rotating carnival of sin, touring the country in search of relief from wounds so deep that true love could be the only culprit. The heavy drinking, the random slew of one-night stands, it was a band-aid covering a ruptured artery.
Max crawled on his hands and knees across the kitchen and back into the living room. He searched in cabinets, on top of tables, under pillows, etc., and turned up nothing. He scanned the built-in bookshelf next to the fireplace and noticed rows of framed photos – a place where the identity of his paramour would no doubt reveal herself. But the shelves were lined with large family photos from weddings, events, etc. He scanned the faces to see if any sparked a steamy memory but none came. He placed the photos back on the shelf and plopped down on the couch, utterly defeated. The headache had picked up with a vengeance and the hangxiety was starting to creep its way in. As he ran his hands over his face, he noticed the LED light from a cracked phone screen sticking out from a couch cushion.
“Shit!”
He pulled his phone out of the crevice and inspected the damage. It still worked even if he’d need stitches after texting. It was a price he was willing to pay.
That’s when he heard a low growl coming from the other side of the couch. He looked up to find a tiny pomeranian, no more than 10 lbs, snarling at him and holding something in her mouth. As Max leaned in, he solved the mystery of the missing underwear which currently resided in the Pomeranian’s jaws. Max brought his finger to his lips.
“Shhhhh!” he pleaded. The dog continued to snarl. Max approached cautiously.
“Easy buddy, I just want my underwear alright?” He reached out and entered into a tug of war with the tiny dog, pulling on the boxer shorts.
While playing tug-of-war with your underwear whilst hungover in a stranger’s apartment was not ideal, it was nowhere near the worst-case scenario in Max’s mind. Lo and behold, the worst-case scenario was tip-toeing out of the room herself, a move Max knew all too well. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the beautiful, half-dressed stranger quietly tip-toed around the apartment, scooping up items. He watched for what felt like minutes before she noticed him with a startled gasp.
“Christ,” she said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Oh hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
The dog continued to snarl with Max’s now torn underwear in its mouth.
“Cute pup by the way. What’s his name?”
The woman looked at Max in utter confusion.
“His name? Why would I know his name?”
“Uh because it’s your dog?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Okay, so why would you have a dog in your apartment?”
“My apartment?”
In an instant, all the memories came flooding back in a terrifying wave. The drinks. The shots. The smoky eyes connecting from across the bar, her intoxicating smile, her hand on his thigh, his hand brushing away her hair. The laughing. The kissing. The pulling. Biting. Tearing. The elevator – oh the elevator was a first. Many buttons were pressed. They barely stopped their activities to exit and barreled into the closest apartment door.
Unfortunately, Max’s recollection was cut short by the sound of jangling keys and a turning lock. He and his new friend whip their heads towards the front door to find a white-haired elderly woman, carrying a bag of groceries. All three stood in shocked silence. The elderly woman let out a loud shriek. Max and his new friend looked at each other and sprinted towards the door, scooping up their belongings before barreling into the nearby elevator.
They both tried to catch their breath.
“Holy shit,” she panted. “Holy shit! Did we really just-”
“Yes, I think so.”
They both stared ahead in silence as the elevator clicked through the floors.
“Well I must admit that’s a first for me,” Max admitted.
The woman scoffed. “The one-night-stand?”
“No, the accidentally committing a felony.” She looked deep into Max’s eyes before bursting out into laughter. Soon, he joined her and they cackled as they descended down the building. She held out her hand.
“Jessica,” she said with a smile.
“Max.”
“So Max, I suppose we should go on the lamb somewhere and lay low for a while?”
Max nodded. At that moment, there was no woman on earth more beautiful than she was. For the first time in years, Max remembered the feeling of feeling and it returned like an old friend.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose so.”