The Morning After

The sunlight, usually a welcome guest, felt like an unwelcome intruder, too bright, too insistent, as it managed to seep through the gap in the curtains. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, a dull throb echoing behind my eyes. Vacation. The word felt like a cruel joke this morning. The promise of lazy days, of sisterly chats and the delightful chaos of my niece’s presence, seemed a million miles away. Instead, there was this heavy, fuzzy feeling, a sticky residue of the night before.

I remembered Akira’s infectious laughter, the clinking of glasses, the easy flow of conversation that had morphed into something a little looser, a little more carefree. Rom soe had been there, his arm slung comfortably around Akira’s shoulders, their shared smiles a picture of uncomplicated joy. Kiddo, bless his boisterous heart, had been the ringleader, his stories getting wilder with each shot, and I, MJ, had happily followed suit. It had felt like shedding a skin, a temporary escape from the quiet hum of responsibility, a little moral vacation from myself.

And Leo. My little brother. He was always watching, wasn't he? His eyes, so wide and observant, taking everything in. I’d seen him, a shadow at the edge of the room, his brow furrowed, a silent question in his gaze. I’d given him a little wave, a sheepish smile, hoping he’d just understand it was a rare indulgence, a grown-up thing. But Leo, bless his principled little heart, didn’t do nuance. He did right and wrong, and in his world, what we were doing was definitely wrong. I’d dismissed the unease then, chalking it up to the alcohol, to the slight guilt of breaking my own unspoken rules. But now, in the harsh light of morning, the unease had solidified into a cold knot in my stomach.