V Day -- Flash Fiction

[Yesterday was my friend Ruth Ann's birthday and Day V in the A to Z Blogging Challenge. Life interfered and I missed writing for the challenge so here is a bit of flash fiction for her birthday and V Day.]

   Luxurious, that was the word. Not quite awake yet, but not still asleep. Not really. Warm and satisfied. The world smelled of gardenias and sex. She must still be asleep and dreaming. Leonard was gone. Five years gone.

   She squeezed her eyes tight to stop the tears. Five long years and still it hurt. Not as much, maybe. But there were still tears.

   She turned her head setting the whole world in motion. Oh, my God. If she opened her eyes she’d be sick. She must be still. Perfectly still until the nausea passed.

   The pillow against her cheek was so smooth she could not feel where her skin ended and the pillow slip began. It had been like that with him. She could not feel where her skin ended and his began.

   She opened her eyes. White walls. White drapes. The ceiling was much too high and the bed too low. Where was she? She had to get up.

   Again the world whirled around her. Her stomach rebelled. She rolled off the bed onto her knees.

   A waterbed? A waterbed. It wasn’t her. She wasn’t dizzy at all. It was the bed.

   My God, how long had it been since she slept in a waterbed? Leonard didn’t like waterbeds. They were too difficult to make love in. He had a bad back.

   That hadn’t been the case last night. But it hadn’t been Leonard last night either. She stood in the middle of the room and stretched feeling the near pain of muscles releasing tension. She felt tall and vital and beautiful.

   “Well, tall at least,” she said aloud.

   “And beautiful,” he said standing in the doorway. He handed her a glass. “Tomato juice, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and a little hair of the dog.”

   “Vitamins?” she asked.

   “Vitamins,” he said.