And now sobriety was here.

She stretched a little and yawned. Yikes, sobriety was here, but so was her morning breath. Maybe she could sneak out of bed and brush real quick without waking him up. But when she stretched one leg out, the hand on her hand clamped down, ran up her arm and found a home around her waist. He’d been loosely spooning her, but now he was tight against her. He grumbled, low in his throat, but Mary wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. Well, one part of him certainly was awake, and it was as hard as it had been last night. He pressed hot and insistent into her ass and thigh.

But seriously, she was going to have to do something about this breath. She slid out from under his arm and tiptoed to the bathroom. First things first, she peed, and then she moved to the sink.

Mary almost screamed.

Natural light filtered in through the window, lighting her harshly from the side. It had been a long time since she’d fallen asleep with her makeup on and, good Jesus, it was a grim state of affairs on her face right now. She looked cracked and smudged and wrecked. And not in a good way.

She scrambled for makeup-removing pads and moisturizer, rubbing at her skin almost frantically. Now, with the makeup removed and her face lotioned up, she looked red and shiny. Her pink dress, which had seemed so pretty the night before, was wrinkled. The chic style of it made a mockery of her makeup-less face, pink as the inside of a strawberry.

God.

Mary tore her eyes from her reflection and quickly brushed her teeth, hoping that when she looked up, her color would have gone down a little. But alas, she still looked pink and puffy and...old.

Mary brought a shaking hand to her mouth. Her hair was frizzy and lank, her skin lined and swollen from too little sleep and too much beer. There was none of her usual sparkle. The harsh morning light was only getting harsher.

She looked down at herself, pulling the neckline of her dress away from her in order to peek down at her body. Her chest had those lines it sometimes got when she slept on her side and her breasts pulled, all night, to one side. Her underwear was hot pink and ridiculous. She was wearing sorority-girl underwear. Why had she thought this was cute on her? This was clearly for college students.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. There was nothing for her to change into in here. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. John was either asleep or just waking up in her bed. He thought he’d be waking up to the Mary of last night, polished and put-together and confident.