"Honey, wake up." Monica said, gentley shaking her husband. He was fast sleep even though his alarm clock had gone off, and, uncharacteristically, he was drooling out of the corner of his mouth. She began to pat his cheek, perhaps this gesture would wake him up. He gave a disgruntled snore but didn't rouse. "Alistair." She hissed. "It's time to get up." She put her face close to his. He didn't seem to sense her prescence at all. "Alistair!" She called, right into his ear. The shout woke him up, but not in the way she'd expected. She'd thought he'd groggily open his eyes due to the fashion he'd been sleeping in before. Instead, his eyelids smacked open and he shot upwards.
"Monica! Don't scare me like that!" He said, his heart racing.
"You were asleep a second before, I didn't think you'd react so strongly." She said in her defense, raising her arms.
"Yeah...was I? Well, you still didn't have to scream into my ear..." He cupped his hand over the side of his face. His ear still rang. "I feel terrible..."
"No shit shirlock." Monica said almost angrily, she hated when her husband blamed things on her that obviously weren't her fault. "Did you drink again last night? Lottie told me she found you hungover?" She smacked her puffy lips together while looking at him, something she only did when she'd heard rumours and wanted to see if they were true.
"I didn't...I didn't drink. I mean, I did, in my dream, but I didn't actually drink." He said, speaking more to himself than to his wife. He'd dreamt of Hitler and Goebbels again, what was up with that? And why did he feel the hungover even stronger than the day before?
"You don't have to lie to me, I'm your wife. Anyway, I'm off. I can't laze around, I'm not in a high office." She glared at him and grabbed her purse, heading to the bathroom. Had President Bowmore not been as hungover he might have noticed how suspicious this action was; what did she need her purse for in the bathroom? But he was too tired and heavy-headed to care.
Snow. That's what he'd done yesterday. And woah, had that been wild. His heart had began to pump harder than it had in years. The last time he'd felt it drumming against his chest so hard was when he'd run and finished a marathon at age twenty-one. Worth the experience but not something he'd do again. Both things actually, marathons and snow..
He slipped into his slippers and went to the bathroom door on which he rapped impatiently. "Monica! I need to take a shower."
"I was in here first!"
"My day starts earlier!" He retorted.
"I need to do my make-up, you don't!" She insisted. He knocked on the door again, only louder.
"I'm going to run late if you don't hurry up!"
"Alright then, you go first, Mr. President." She said, flinging open the door and shoving her make-up kit into his chest. "And you can do your make-up in peace and quiet because I have to wait anyway!" She stormed off, chin up, face turned away from her spouse. Bowmore sighed, entered the bathroom where he put the make-up kit on the counter and slowly closed the door. There was nothing to do when she got her moods, and even if he could have done something, he was too exhausted and sleep-deprived too. It felt like he hadn't truely rested in days. Maybe that's why I've been feeling so hungover...
He stripped off his pjamas and got under the shower. The stream of hot water his his back. It felt good, like the stream of water was hugging his tired body, but at the same time it made his tiredness increase. He sighed and turned the knob to cold. He forced himself to stand under the cold sprout. For every second under the freezing water he felt better. He counted to thirty-five, then he stopped counting because of the cold. After what couldn't have been more than a minute he jumped out from the shower altogether, turned the water off, then to warm, then on again and finally, returned under the stream. How does she always shower cold? He thought. Indeed, Monica did always shower very chilly, her skin was always cool to the touch when she exited the shower. At the beginning of her relationship he'd thought she did it extra to make sure he wouldn't join her, but soon enough he'd found out that she'd lived at a farmhouse as a child, somewhere near Paris, and there'd been no warm water there at all. Now it was simply a thing she did to keep healthy and boost her immune system. How shocking your skin off your body every morning could be healthy her husband didn't understand, but he accepted it.
He finished up, rubbed his hair dry, tied the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom. "It's all yours." He called to his wife. She shot him an annoyed glance and rushed inside. She'll have forgiven me by tonight. He thought as he started to get dressed. And if she hasn't, I'll buy her a bouquet of flowers tomorrow.
He wasn't quite right. She'd forgiven him already. There were much more important things for her to think about then their little bathroom quarrel. She locked the door and fished the tiny test out of her purse again. The ten minutes were long over.
And there it was. The tiny pink plus. Hugging it to her chest she sent up a prayer of thanks. "It finally worked." She whispered. Then she wrapped up the test in toilet paper and threw it into the trash. She'd tell him when she was ready, no need for him to know so early. She fluffed up her dark brown curls and smiled at her reflection. Today was going to be a good day.