The Morning After
A soft, golden light filters through the thin curtains of Alex's bedroom. The sound of distant traffic hums faintly in the background, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds. For a moment, everything feels peaceful—normal. Alex stirs, half-awake, the lingering fog of sleep tugging at his consciousness.
Then he feels it—warmth pressed against his side, an arm draped lazily across his chest. His body stiffens.
His eyes snap open, the blurry haze of the room coming into focus. The first thing he sees is a cascade of dark hair spilling across the pillow beside him. A woman lies curled against him, her features serene in slumber. Panic surges in his chest, his gaze darting around the room.
There's another one.
At the foot of the bed, another woman is sprawled on her stomach, her bare back partially covered by the thin sheet tangled around them all. Alex's heart races as he realizes both women are in various states of undress—and so is he.
"What the—" His voice comes out in a hushed rasp, his throat dry.
The woman beside him stirs, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest as she lets out a soft hum of contentment. Her eyes flutter open, and for a brief moment, she looks at him with a sleepy smile, as if everything is perfectly ordinary.
"Morning, Alex," she says, her voice low and sultry.
Alex's mouth opens, but no words come out. He feels like he's been struck by lightning. His mind races, desperately searching for answers.
The woman at the foot of the bed shifts as well, propping herself up on one elbow. She gives him a slow, languid smile, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. "You were incredible last night," she says, her tone teasing. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Alex's stomach drops. He jerks upright, the sheet falling from his shoulders to reveal his bare chest. His face flushes red as he stammers, "I—I don't… What happened?"
The first woman sits up beside him, brushing her hair out of her face with an easy, practiced motion. She tilts her head, studying him with a curious expression. "You don't remember?"
Her question is casual, but there's a subtle shift in her eyes—something like confusion or concern.
"No, I don't remember!" Alex blurts out, his voice louder now. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cold floor as he buries his head in his hands. "This doesn't make any sense. I don't even know who you are!"
The second woman laughs softly, the sound light and musical. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you forgot everything. You were… intense last night." Her smile grows, playful but with a glint of danger. "I kind of liked it."
Alex turns to look at her, his hazel eyes wide with panic. "Please, just… tell me what happened. I don't understand."
The first woman, sensing his genuine distress, places a hand gently on his shoulder. Her expression softens, a small frown tugging at her lips. "You really don't remember, do you?"
Alex shakes his head, his voice trembling. "No. I don't."
The two women exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. The second woman sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Okay, listen. You came into the bar last night, looking like you owned the place. You were… different."
"Confident," the first woman adds. "Charismatic. You had this… presence."
"Yeah," the second woman agrees. "And when those guys tried to pick a fight with you, you handled them like it was nothing. No hesitation, no fear. It was…" She pauses, searching for the right word. "…impressive."
Alex's heart pounds as fragments of the previous night surface in his mind—the thugs, the fire, the voice that wasn't his. His chest tightens as he realizes what they're describing: another personality.
"No," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. "That wasn't me. It couldn't have been me."
The first woman leans closer, her hand still on his shoulder. "Hey," she says softly, trying to catch his gaze. "Whoever it was last night, it was still you. You just… seemed like a different version of yourself."
Her words send a chill down his spine. A different version of himself. He pulls away, standing abruptly and grabbing the nearest shirt to cover himself. "I need to think," he mutters, his movements frantic.
The second woman smirks, leaning back against the pillows. "Well, if you figure it out, give us a call." She winks. "You've got our numbers."
Alex freezes. He doesn't even have his own memories of the night, let alone their numbers. He shoots them a confused glance, but they're already rising from the bed, completely at ease as they gather their scattered clothes.
"Take care, Alex," the first woman says, her voice kind but tinged with curiosity.
The sound of the knock echoed through the apartment, sharp and insistent. Alex froze mid-step, his head snapping toward the door. His breath hitched. The knock came again, louder this time, carrying with it an unspoken urgency.
The women paused in their movements, their carefree demeanor replaced by cautious curiosity. The second woman—the one with the piercing green eyes—arched an eyebrow as she pulled her shirt over her head. "Expecting company?" she asked, her tone tinged with amusement, though her gaze flickered toward the door with suspicion.
Alex didn't answer. His hazel eyes narrowed, his mind already spinning through worst-case scenarios. His legs felt heavy as he moved toward the door, each step slower than the last. A deep unease settled in his stomach.
He peered through the peephole. His breath caught. A man in a dark suit stood on the other side, his stance rigid and purposeful. His face was partially obscured by the shadow cast from the hallway light, but the polished badge clipped to his belt glinted unmistakably.
Alex's blood ran cold. He stepped back from the door, shutting his eyes for a brief moment as a wave of panic surged through him. When he turned back to the women, his voice was low but urgent.
"Hide," he said, his words clipped.
The second woman crossed her arms, her emerald eyes narrowing. "What? Why?"
"Just do it!" Alex hissed, his voice breaking slightly.
The first woman, sensing the seriousness in his tone, stepped forward, her expression soft but concerned. "Alex, what's going on? Who's at the door?"
"It doesn't matter," he snapped, though his tone was more desperate than harsh. His gaze darted between them, his mind racing. "Please, just hide. Now."
The first woman hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue, but she stopped herself. There was something in Alex's expression—wild and unsteady, like a cornered animal—that made her nod.
"Okay," she whispered. She grabbed the other woman's arm, tugging her toward the bedroom.
The second woman resisted, her lips curving into a small, defiant smirk. "What are you so scared of?" she teased, her voice deliberately loud.
Alex strode toward her, his frustration boiling over. "Look," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "if they find you here, it's not just me they'll come after. They'll come after you, too. Now hide."
Her smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of unease. She glanced at the first woman, then back at Alex, and finally relented with a small shrug.
"Fine. But you owe me an explanation later," she muttered as she followed the other woman into the bedroom.
Alex watched them go, his chest tightening with every second. The door to the bedroom clicked shut, leaving him alone in the living room. He took a deep, shaky breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
The knock came again, harder this time, rattling the door in its frame.
"I'm coming!" Alex called out, forcing a steadiness into his voice that he didn't feel.
He approached the door slowly, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned it and pulled the door open just enough to peer through.
The man in the suit stood motionless, his eyes sharp and calculating. Up close, Alex could see the faint lines of age etched into his face, the tightness in his jaw.
"Mr. Hartley," the man said, his voice smooth but laced with authority.
Alex swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the doorframe. "Who's asking?"
A man's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Agent Marcus. We need to have a word."
Alex's stomach churned. "About what?"
Agent Marcus tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Alex's. "About last night."
The words hit Alex like a blow. His mind raced, panic clawing at the edges of his thoughts. He forced himself to remain calm, though his voice wavered slightly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his tone flat.
The agent raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "We both know that's not true. Let me in, Mr. Hartley. This will be easier for everyone if we have a… civil conversation."
Alex's heart thundered in his chest. He glanced back toward the bedroom door, praying that the women stayed quiet.
"I'm busy," he said, his grip tightening on the edge of the door. "Maybe another time."
The agent's eyes darkened, his expression hardening. "I wasn't asking."
Before Alex could respond, the agent stepped forward, his polished shoe wedging itself against the doorframe. His presence was imposing, the weight of authority practically radiating off him.
Alex's mind screamed at him to think of something, anything, but all he could feel was the heat building in his chest—the same heat he'd felt last night.
"No," he whispered under his breath, panic blooming anew.
Agent Marcus frowned, his gaze sharpening. "Is something wrong, Mr. Hartley?"
Alex shook his head, forcing a strained smile. "No. Everything's fine."
But deep down, he knew it wasn't.