TRUE-LIFE
Rolling over in bed, I patted the space next to me.
Phew, empty.
For once, I’d not brought a random person back from the club the night before.
It was June 2011 and, aged 25, every weekend was the same.
I’d clock off from my care home job on a Friday night and head to town.
But waking each Saturday with a sore head, hazy memory and a stranger in my bed was wearing thin.
I loved sex, but hated the empty feeling the morning after.
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I realised how relieved I felt to be alone.
Enough’s enough, I told my reflection.
No more
