The sun was bleeding out over the LA skyline when Rebecca finally passed the fuck out. 8 PM. A full seven hours after she'd first locked eyes with me across the hotel suite.
I watched her chest rise and fall—slow, deep, the kind of sleep that only comes after your body's been thoroughly destroyed and then painstakingly rebuilt. She was sprawled across the king-sized bed like she'd been dropped from a great height, a chaotic masterpiece of satisfaction. Blonde hair fanned out over the pillows, sheets twisted into a rope around her legs, completely naked, completely wrecked.
But it was the smile on her face that got me. Soft. Peaceful. Like her soul had forgotten how to do that and her body had just remembered the muscle memory.
