[ WP ] Slowly start to realize that you have a roommate .

It must be around 7 am. The night pulls its last strings of darkness while the day starts to fight its way through the blinds. 
 
 I close my eyes back. The air is heavy and leaves a mild rotten scent in the room. I fully open the mouth to catch a breath, the breeze getting in is familiar. It reminds me of my sick days as a child when my mother would storm trough the door and tuck me in. Then she would open the window, so the virus would find its way out. I would freeze but the fever would stop my urge for whining. For a second, I can feel her icy hands rubbing my forehead. 
 
 But I do n't recall being sick. Maybe it was the whisky. The recurring thought pops out in my mind, and I assume once again it's the last of the times: Just stop drinking. I make an effort to remember the alcohol through my throat, the bottle on my hand. But there are no sips left in my last night's memory. Actually, there is nothing left. 
 
 I turn my body to the right, rolling into a fetus position. I'm suddenly shivering. 
 
 The morning background noise gives space to a new sound. A gentle whistle that goes up and down, in a rhythmic manner. I order my chest to stop breathing, and it can handle it for longer than usual. Though the noise does n't stop, which it can only mean one thing. The inhales and exhales are not coming from my body. 
 
 My sticky eyes start looking for my wife. My hope only lasts for an instant, before the reality strikes. She ca n't be here, can she? I do n't know where she is, but I know for certain that she left. 
 
 My sight gets slowly used to the shadow in front of me. The shapeless mass gradually fades in another body, lying in a single bed. The light shines over the bald head of a man, allowing me to get a glimpse of his figure. I desperately try to find a connection, but I ca n't recognize him. There is a stranger in my room. 
 
 All of the sudden the space seems uncanny. The cozy feeling turns into an uncomfortable lack of awareness. My mind is too fuzzy to make a judgement. The window seems too small, the walls too white, the ceiling too high. 
 The door shows open. The silhouette of a woman moves until she reaches the window, opening the blinds with one rehearsed strong move. 
 
 - Time to wake up, misters. 
 
 The confusion blocks my body from standing up. She storms out the room for about five seconds, which I use to take a good look at the bald guy. The day reveals a wrinkled old man. 
 
 The lady comes back with a tray, and she tosses it gently into my lap. 
 
 - Croissant day, Robert. Your fav! 
 
 I look up, finding her uniform. She is wearing a plaque with her name, Rebecca. I stare at the white tea, the orange juice, the croissants. I ca n't recall if I like them or not. 
 
 
 
 

