I opened the bathroom door gently, whispering ‘Hodgie?’

Somewhere within, a guttural groan.

The clock said 1:32 AM.

The smell was, well…vile. Brussel sprouts for dinner. She had clearly been sick.

Through the hazy darkness — the light of the moon barely sneaking through the blinds of the bathroom window — I could the silhouette of her splayed form on the ground. She was on her back, hair wild, a blonde octopus.

‘Hodgie?’

She moaned, and seemed alive. I closed the door and went back to bed...