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When Ishaana awoke, she was paralysed on the bed, lying askew on top of the covers with Casey snoring beside her. Her entire body ached, her thighs sore and her hips bruised, and her head pounded. The mix of too many different types of alcohol churned in her stomach and a wave of nausea flooded her, forcing her to stumble off the bed and trip into the bathroom where she dropped to her knees and gripped the rim of the toilet, her shoulders heaving as she brought up the contents of her stomach.
Slipping onto the floor, she pulled the flush and rested her back against the bathtub, her hand over her eyes. Everything was too bright, the light blinding her sensitive pupils, and she groaned as another wave of sickness crushed her, forcing her to hunch over the toilet once more until her lungs burned and her stomach ached as she rid her system of last night. Her arm on the seat, she rested her forehead on the back of her hand and focused on breathing deeply, her eyes shut tight.
There was a knock on the door. She didn't move, her body too laden to pick herself up off the floor when she felt like even lifting her head would bring on another round of dry-heaving. When she ignored the knocking, the door slowly opened and Ishaana glanced up with one eye open to see Bishop standing in the doorway, a shadow that blocked out the light.
"Ishy," he said, and his features pulled into a frown. "Are you ok?"
That was the Bishop that made sense, the one who worried; the one who cared. Not the one who fucked her senseless until she couldn't breathe. It seemed almost impossible to couple this Bishop with the one she had met last night, the one who had ravished her body with everything he had.
"Drank too much," she murmured, her lips hardly moving. Bishop passed her the dress she had discarded last night and crouched down beside her, helping her to pull it on over her head. His hand on her elbow, he helped her to stand. Holding her with one arm wrapped around her waist to stop her from falling over, he twisted the tap with his free hand and filled a glass of water, holding it to her lips. Her hand over his, she finished the glass in a long, thirsty gulp and rested her head against his chest. Her mind flashed with images from last night, but they seemed like fiction. He was a gentle giant, helping her back to the bedroom once he had refilled her glass.
"You need to drink," he said, letting her slip onto the bed. A different bed. This wasn't the one they had shared last night; this was the one on the other side of the adjoining door, crisp sheets undisturbed when Bishop had never left Casey's room.
"How come you're so fine?" she mumbled, squinting at his blurry outline. He stood with his back to the window and she could hardly make out his features.
"I don't really get hungover," he said. The bed creaked when he sat down next to her, his hands clasped between his parted knees. "Look, Ishy, about last night..." He trailed off, a pause that lasted a couple of seconds before he continued. "I don't want to make anything awkward. I'm sorry."
