The Culture of Hooking Up

ORIGINAL ONE-SHOT

ORIGINAL ONE-SHOT: WALK OF SHAME

I slowly inch up from the bed in attempt to minimize its whines in protest. The squeaking is the only sound filling the dead silent room besides the deep breaths that are being taken every once and awhile behind me.

Once my toes meet the hardwood floor, I allow myself to stand all the way up and immediately slip on the neglected pair of lacy underwear that remained in their random place beside the bed. Then glancing to my left I find that the matching blue bra, in the midst of it all, seemed to land right on top of the fat lamp sitting on the nightstand.

Now with my undergarments on, I continue to slowly tiptoe around the dim room to retrieve the rest of my clothing with only a faint glow penetrating through the blinds on the window as my guide. I bend down to pick up my jeans, which were discarded at the foot of the bed, and tentatively shimmy into them as my eyes keep anxiously darting to the guy sized lump taking up a majority of the bed.

After buttoning them up, making sure to refrain from the loud noise of a zipper, I glance around for any trace of my shirt. My eyes flicker around, taking in all the shadows still lurking around in the fading darkness, and it only reminds me of my time limit.

I duck down to glance under the bed, but seeing all black, I reach my hand under it, and graze the area with my hand. My hope being to connect with the silky material of my shirt, but when I only come up with dust on my fingertips, I quickly stand back up and wipe my hand on my jeans. In doing so, my eyes finally catch onto something dark leaving a small crack in the door and also inhibiting it from closing all the way. Relief washes over me at the fact that I can still keep my streak of never once leaving here without complete coverage, and in my quiet, yet quick haste in getting to it, my foot gets tangled up in a half undone belt still intertwined inside a pair of jeans and I find myself tumbling back down to the floor with a resounding thud.

I clench my jaw, trying really hard not to wince at the immediate pain that erupts from my right knee and hands, and instead focus in on the sound of rustling coming from the bed. My whole body freezes and I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid I blew my cover, but when a minute passes and no footsteps, or comic remark resound, I slowly begin to push myself up with my hands.

Once I'm in a push up position, I look over my shoulder, straining myself as far as I can go, and check on the position of the lump in the bed. Another deep breath escapes me and I push myself all the way back up to a standing position seeing as the lump is now turned onto his back, and the sheet seemed to give away a little in the efforts, revealing his bare chest as it continues to slowly move up and down.

My eyes stayed trained on the movement as if it's driving the sleepiness back into them, but I quickly look away before the sensation can fully take over. I make my way over to the door and am able to throw my shirt on without anymore commotion before finally slipping out of the room. My bare feet continue to lightly pad down the hallway and yawn escapes me before I can stop it.

Blinking away glossy eyes, I'm about a foot away from the door, from my escape, when one thought stops me.

I forgot my socks.

I resist the urge to stomp my foot against the ground like a temperamental child, but that's when my eyes land on a black heel laying precariously in the middle of the floor a few inches away from me.

Oh, right. I didn't wear socks.

I pick up the heel and quickly grab the other from its place a few steps away, realizing the place is brighter than it was before.

I slip out of the apartment, carefully shutting the door behind me, and shove my feet into my heels. I stand there for a second, taking in a deep breath, before making my way down the few levels of steps until I'm out of the apartment building. I wait by the curb for a few cars to pass before crossing the street back to campus.