The deep exhale of breath cut through the silence of the dark room.  A row of spherical light fixtures above the rectangular mirror caused the darkness to fade away.  Nick was leaning over the sink, face down, eyes squeezed shut, attempting to push out the thumping migraine in the middle of his head.  It had taken a tremendous effort to lift himself off the couch in the still, black living room and lurch into the bathroom; right now, he was content enough to prop himself up and prevent himself from falling over for a few more minutes.

His head rolled upward, eyelids peeled back, looking through strands of blond hair that fell over his face.  A brush of the fingers brought back the sight of his square-jawed, stubble-peppered visage: not too disfigured, except that his steel-tinted blue eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into their sockets.  That would pass in time.

“You’re quite the devil, buddy.”  A low, craggy voice sputtered from his lips.

He let out a deep chuckle-not too deep, though.  Brenda was still sleeping in the bedroom, down the hall.  She was hard to wake up, but he didn’t want to take any chances.  Not after last night, especially.  What a night at work. 

And after work as well.

Somewhere, in the back of his throbbing head, a pulse of guilt was tapping him in between the rhythmic thump of the migraine.  Yes, he had been a bad boy, a very bad boy.  Granted, he hadn’t planned on doing it; it had just happened.  And guilt aside, it had been fun-more fun than he could have ever imagined.  He shouldn’t have done it.  There was no denying that.  A part of him regretted it, dreading to look Brenda in the face when he would see her after work tonight.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been fun at the time.