sorta best-friend-forever gotten Christine into?
She’d had the worst and weirdest nightmare
of her life. She didn’t want to even think about it, not before she was fully
awake and halfway through a hot shower.
The bed felt a lot lumpier than usual;
the sheets also felt different. She reached for the glasses on her nightstand,
but her hand hit only air, so either she was sleeping upside down or she was in
someone else’s bed. OMG. Had she and some frat boy..? Had they used protection?
Had it been consensual? The idea of some troglodyte from Phi Beta Gecko having
his way with her unconscious body almost made her throw up again. She had
thrown up earlier last night, hadn’t she?
Christine forced herself to take deep
breaths and slow down her racing crazy train of thought. When she got anxious
her mind sped up and started spinning out of control, and that wouldn’t do
anybody any good. Okay, think. It’s dark, and don’t have my glasses or
contacts on, which means I’m blind as a bat. No problem, I still have all my
other senses.
She felt around the bed and found no
other occupants, which made sense, since her discombobulated awakening should
have woken up anybody with a pulse. After some more feeling around, she found a
nightstand on the wrong side of the bed, assuming this was her normal bed,
which it clearly wasn’t. She felt around that table, but found no eyewear, just
a glass of water and a lamp.
“Lamp good, water good.” She turned on
the lamp and then there was light. The lamp revealed an unusual room, not what
she expected a frat boy’s lair would look like. It was small, with a fairly low
ceiling and very little in the way of furnishings and decorations. On one wall
there was an industrial-size golden crucifix, very ornate in a style that
reminded her of Greek Byzantine art. The other walls were bare; the room was
painted in a light pastel color. Besides the bed and nightstand, the only other
furnishing was a plain chair. No mirror, no posters on the walls, no signs of
individuality or even fashionable pretend individuality anywhere. So maybe this
wasn’t a frat boy’s place.
Christine continued to take inventory.
She was wearing white and pink striped pajamas, a couple sizes too large. For
some reason she’d imagined herself wearing her old Hello Kitty pajamas, but that
had been part of the weird-ass nightmare. Christine didn’t own any pajamas,
hadn’t since she was a child; she was a t-shirt and sweatpants or undies in bed
kind of girl. Which meant…
Someone else had dressed her.
Roofies. Not effing funny. I’m not a
victim. This can’t be happening, can’t be happening…
Okay. Back to deep breaths. Slow down,
brain. Please.
Christine tried to think things through
logically. Logic and math were great tools, might as well use them. Solve the
equation, figure out how things work, win valuable prizes. All right. She
didn’t think striped pajamas and a big Byzantine cross fit with a date rapist
profile. And she didn’t feel sore or in pain. In fact, she felt better than she
ever had. Her eyesight, for example, was a lot better than it could be without
glasses. She could make out every detail on the cross on the wall, for example,
and normally without her glasses she would have been hard pressed to identify
the object on the wall as a cross. Okay, not that bad but still, her vision
hadn’t been this good since she was a child.
So somebody had roofied her, dressed her
up in pajamas, and improved her eyesight? Let’s be logical and discard facts
not in evidence. Pajamas, fact. Better eyesight, fact. Roofies, open question.
What was the last thing she remembered before waking up here? See? Logic, step
by step, cause and effect and we’ll be fit as a fiddle in two shakes of a
lamb’s leg and let’s see how many metaphors and similes I can stack in one
sentence…
I said slow down, brain!
She lay back on the bed – it was
definitely lumpier than the one in her dorm room – and
She’d had the worst and weirdest nightmare
of her life. She didn’t want to even think about it, not before she was fully
awake and halfway through a hot shower.
The bed felt a lot lumpier than usual;
the sheets also felt different. She reached for the glasses on her nightstand,
but her hand hit only air, so either she was sleeping upside down or she was in
someone else’s bed. OMG. Had she and some frat boy..? Had they used protection?
Had it been consensual? The idea of some troglodyte from Phi Beta Gecko having
his way with her unconscious body almost made her throw up again. She had
thrown up earlier last night, hadn’t she?
Christine forced herself to take deep
breaths and slow down her racing crazy train of thought. When she got anxious
her mind sped up and started spinning out of control, and that wouldn’t do
anybody any good. Okay, think. It’s dark, and don’t have my glasses or
contacts on, which means I’m blind as a bat. No problem, I still have all my
other senses.
She felt around the bed and found no
other occupants, which made sense, since her discombobulated awakening should
have woken up anybody with a pulse. After some more feeling around, she found a
nightstand on the wrong side of the bed, assuming this was her normal bed,
which it clearly wasn’t. She felt around that table, but found no eyewear, just
a glass of water and a lamp.
“Lamp good, water good.” She turned on
the lamp and then there was light. The lamp revealed an unusual room, not what
she expected a frat boy’s lair would look like. It was small, with a fairly low
ceiling and very little in the way of furnishings and decorations. On one wall
there was an industrial-size golden crucifix, very ornate in a style that
reminded her of Greek Byzantine art. The other walls were bare; the room was
painted in a light pastel color. Besides the bed and nightstand, the only other
furnishing was a plain chair. No mirror, no posters on the walls, no signs of
individuality or even fashionable pretend individuality anywhere. So maybe this
wasn’t a frat boy’s place.
Christine continued to take inventory.
She was wearing white and pink striped pajamas, a couple sizes too large. For
some reason she’d imagined herself wearing her old Hello Kitty pajamas, but that
had been part of the weird-ass nightmare. Christine didn’t own any pajamas,
hadn’t since she was a child; she was a t-shirt and sweatpants or undies in bed
kind of girl. Which meant…
Someone else had dressed her.
Roofies. Not effing funny. I’m not a
victim. This can’t be happening, can’t be happening…
Okay. Back to deep breaths. Slow down,
brain. Please.
Christine tried to think things through
logically. Logic and math were great tools, might as well use them. Solve the
equation, figure out how things work, win valuable prizes. All right. She
didn’t think striped pajamas and a big Byzantine cross fit with a date rapist
profile. And she didn’t feel sore or in pain. In fact, she felt better than she
ever had. Her eyesight, for example, was a lot better than it could be without
glasses. She could make out every detail on the cross on the wall, for example,
and normally without her glasses she would have been hard pressed to identify
the object on the wall as a cross. Okay, not that bad but still, her vision
hadn’t been this good since she was a child.
So somebody had roofied her, dressed her
up in pajamas, and improved her eyesight? Let’s be logical and discard facts
not in evidence. Pajamas, fact. Better eyesight, fact. Roofies, open question.
What was the last thing she remembered before waking up here? See? Logic, step
by step, cause and effect and we’ll be fit as a fiddle in two shakes of a
lamb’s leg and let’s see how many metaphors and similes I can stack in one
sentence…
I said slow down, brain!
She lay back on the bed – it was
definitely lumpier than the one in her dorm room – and
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