The morning was doubly cruel to Jenna as she wandered around the house in her bath robe. The hangover was a troublesome malaise which had the penchant for punching her in the brain. The guilt however, was much more complex, and a much bigger burden to weigh her down. She walked to the couch and watched morning television between bouts of tears and self-castigation, though she didn't really pay attention to any of the programming. She thought of her life, and how trapped she was. Last night she had the chance to set things right, a chance to stand on her own two feet for once and for all, but instead she allowed herself to succumb to a base and carnal need, therefore lowering herself to Rich's level: something crude and vile, something which shamed her.
She made tea but drank only two sips before losing herself in an internal whirlpool of self-condemnation for a while. She pulled her knees to her chin and tugged the hem of her robe over her feet, fidgeted with her toenails.
It was inertia, obviously. Jenna was well aware that she might remain rooted to the couch if she allowed herself to further her quest of lethargy. The thought of her laziness too, repulsed her. But she also knew that it would take far too much effort get herself moving off that couch. Instead she padded to the fridge and pulled a pint of fudge ice cream from the freezer.