Waking up at last

    Bright sunlight bathed her face, making her wince in pain. Too bright, too early. Candice rolled over, away from the hot glare, on the old couch. Once she was facing away from the light, her eyes snapped open and panic gripped her roiling guts. She patted herself down under the old, hand crochetted afgan. Candice was minutely relieved to find her pants were on as were her underwear, bra and socks. She also made note that there was no tell-tale tenderness between her legs. She hadn't had sex, consensual or otherwise, last night.
    She was, however, laying on a very old, very comfortable couch under an equally old burgundy afgan. She also had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Candice pulled the blanket over her head and rolled back over to try and survey the room through the holes. Almost on cue, a skinny young man shuffled into the room. His longish hair was rumpled from sleep. He had on large fluffy slippers that looked like giant furry blue monster-muppet feet, a threadbare Aquaman t-shirt and rumpled, baggy pink boxer shorts.