The alarm clock was heard from the other side of the thick wooden walls. He would slam the clock, yawn, cough, scratch his balls, then head to the bathroom.
That gave her an approximate 7 minutes to fix her hair as well as she could, brushing her now scraggly brunette hair through her fingers, licking her chapped lips until they glistened, and making sure her face was clean by spit bathing.
She couldn’t do anything about her clothes, or lack thereof, her tattered pink bra and lace pink undies full of holes, as presentable as they would ever be.
She heard his focused footsteps head to her and she sucked in her stomach as he unlocked the deadbolt.
She smiled, and she tried to memorize the lines that were formed on his face while he smiled, the hard edges of his jawline meeting the soft wave of smile wrinkles, leading to a brow furrowed in stress fractures and worry lines. God, he was beautiful.
‘Good morning, my love’.