Philippe Diaz

Lucien

At one point of time during the night, he became aware of the sound of a person retching. Still in the throes of his drunken stupor, he went back to his dreamless sleep and only awakened to find himself alone in the great bed when the sun was high in the sky and it was almost mid-morning.

Sitting up, he scowled as he ran his large hand over his face. He had not gone on a drinking binge like this in a long while and it had affected him. His head was pounding and he stood up swearing. He was not getting younger, he thought, scratching his hirsute chest. And noticed his shoes lined up neatly.

His Woman. She had done it; taking care of him when he had been too gone to even shed his shirt. He recalled her kneeling before him, smiling up at him softly as she took off his footwear. Damn, he did not deserve her, he thought, scratching his stubbled jaw, the familiar guilt flooding him.

A feeling of disgust thrummed in his head as he remembered how she had reacted to his confession. The