A trickle of blood escaping from her nose woke her up.
The first thing he did was to look for his phone between the sheets to check the time, however he found it totally discharged. He looked up at the ceiling thinking about how strange it seemed to him to have dawned with a slight leak of blood from his nose. Only twice in his life had he experienced something similar, and on both occasions he photographed the bloody paper with which he wiped his face.
As she sat up, she saw three red drops fall on the bedspread. Not even on her menstruation days did she stain the bed. She frowned and immediately felt pain, like the pain you feel when you have a scab on your knee or elbow that never seems to close because it is constantly bending.
Between his eyebrows was a wound that had not finished healing and was opened by his angry expression.
He ran his hands over the rest of his face and noticed a swollen nose. He tried to arrange the pieces of the puzzle of his memory, which apparently the alcohol had messed up or misplaced somewhere. He lay down again and as he closed his eyes and sheltered himself to escape the annoying light coming through the window, he saw a glass falling on the floor of a huge room that was lit only by the glow of the nightlife on the street. Shouts of an argument could be heard in that room, mixed with party music coming from what might be the floor below. She opened her eyes again, but was still hidden under the sheets.
She became engrossed in her memory and then saw a flash approaching her. She felt the warmth of blood, the same warmth that had awakened her.
Photographers: Eylül Aslan
.