him, heart, home?

He went out last night, the boyfriend I mean. Good on him, I say, let the stress build up through exams out with a night of drinking and clubbing. I intend on doing this after my last exam. He promised through my open window when I dropped him off in the centre of the clubs precinct that I could expect to have him stay at mine. Among the jokes of him waking me and the feeble protestations of exams being more important, we both unanimously agreed that this would be the best plan - as always. He's a regular at my house, 4 am deposits him on my bed on many ocassions. Drunk, tired and most of the time horny. I wake each time, but only enough to kiss him good night and ensure he has enough bed. Morning tells a different story.

Its good to wake to the attempted silence of him clumsily undressing and hesitating as he drunkenly plans his entrance to my bed. I feign sleep most of the time, keeps me in the limbo between worlds.

But there was no wake up stumble

No call of inability to open my door

No hesitant hug as I didn't wake to his belt hitting the floor

No sound

I wake in the comfortable morning to voices in the lounge. My housemate and her visiting dad. You would not believe the thoughts that went through my head. They (the trio of the boy and his mates from uni) were rather drunk when i dropped them off. They have mouths when drunk. I have hidden fears of bashings from bikeys or other drunk head-strong men. A fight over some chick. Arrested. Injury. While being a fear, you wouldn't think that something like that would happen to you, right? Its on the news, distant friends of distant people.

I roll over to admire my neatly empty bed. Perhaps those hidden fears should have been voiced earlier. Perhpas I should have gone to stop it. Perhaps there was something I could do. I instantly check my phone. Surely the afro or the tall would have voiced some concern. And they had

Afro tells me of boyfriend's injury on his attempt to get home.
The other two messages are from boyfriend. Didn't want to wake me. Three hour walk home. Finally collapsing on his welcoming bed.

I later find after calling him to check that he was still alive, that he didn't even bother to come by my house at all. He'd walked from his friend's place. I thought he'd promised to come visit me in the night, like always. I'd half expected it. I resist the urge to yell at him for causing this fear of abandonment. After all, he didn't want to wake me.