A man wakes up, his head pounding,
and with absolutely no memory of how he got home. His mind is a complete blank slate regarding the end of his night.
He slowly becomes aware he's still fully clothed in bed. He blinks at a bedside lamp, now clearly broken, and a wave of nausea hits him as he realizes he smells faintly of vomit. He pushes himself up, and that's when he spots the muddy tracks leading a disjointed path right to his bed.
He groans, clutching his head, a cold dread washing over him. He knows, with an unsettling certainty, that his wife is going to be furious, even though he can't recall a single detail to explain the mess.
Just then, she walks in, a glass of water and some aspirin in hand. "Here, sweetie, you probably need this," she says, her voice surprisingly gentle as she hands them to him. "Sounds like you had a fun night. Whenever you feel up to it, I have your favorite breakfast in the kitchen, or I can bring it to you in bed. I had my mom pick up the kids so you can have some peace and quiet, and after you clean up and feel better, I was thinking we could fool around and I'll do that thing for you that you like."
The man is utterly baffled. Her kindness is so out of character for such a situation that his lost memories suddenly seem even more perplexing. Suspicion gnaws at him. "What... what happened last night?" he asks, his voice hesitant.
"Around 2 AM, I was woken up by you trying to unlock the door," she begins, a slight smile playing on her lips. "I let you in, and you staggered right past me and collapsed into bed after knocking over the lamp."
"I was mad," she continues, "but I figured I should try to undress you."
"Oh god, I'm so sorry, honey," he interrupts, wincing, "what did I say?"
"You yelled, 'Get your hands off me, lady, I'm married!'"
He slowly becomes aware he's still fully clothed in bed. He blinks at a bedside lamp, now clearly broken, and a wave of nausea hits him as he realizes he smells faintly of vomit. He pushes himself up, and that's when he spots the muddy tracks leading a disjointed path right to his bed.
He groans, clutching his head, a cold dread washing over him. He knows, with an unsettling certainty, that his wife is going to be furious, even though he can't recall a single detail to explain the mess.
Just then, she walks in, a glass of water and some aspirin in hand. "Here, sweetie, you probably need this," she says, her voice surprisingly gentle as she hands them to him. "Sounds like you had a fun night. Whenever you feel up to it, I have your favorite breakfast in the kitchen, or I can bring it to you in bed. I had my mom pick up the kids so you can have some peace and quiet, and after you clean up and feel better, I was thinking we could fool around and I'll do that thing for you that you like."
The man is utterly baffled. Her kindness is so out of character for such a situation that his lost memories suddenly seem even more perplexing. Suspicion gnaws at him. "What... what happened last night?" he asks, his voice hesitant.
"Around 2 AM, I was woken up by you trying to unlock the door," she begins, a slight smile playing on her lips. "I let you in, and you staggered right past me and collapsed into bed after knocking over the lamp."
"I was mad," she continues, "but I figured I should try to undress you."
"Oh god, I'm so sorry, honey," he interrupts, wincing, "what did I say?"
"You yelled, 'Get your hands off me, lady, I'm married!'"
