Chapter III - Amy's Awakening

With a groan, Amy awoke, eyes tepidly fluttering open. Almost immediately as they were open she slammed them again as it felt like the searing light of the heavens was shining through the small cracks in her bedroom curtain.

She groaned once more, heartbeat pounding in her ears and head pounding like a drum.

What the heck did I get up to last night?

Amy tried to swallow, but her throat and mouth were parched to the point arid stiffness. She worked her tongue and mouth muscles, attempting to get some form of salivation going, but as her mouth moistened it also filled with a salty, acrid taste that was vaguely familiar but at the same time leaving her unable to place a finger on the source. As her tongue passed over the back of her teeth, something caught on it, spindly and tangling.

"BLLEEhHH-bflghh-blUUHhh," she spat, trying to get it out, one of her hands coming up from under the covers and into her mouth, managing to grab the offending item after a bit of trial and error. Amy watch as her fingers pulled a short, wavy, ugly-looking strand of hair out that didn't match anything she'd ever seen anywhere on her body.

BLEH, disgusting, how the heck did that get in my bedroom?

The beating in her head had slightly toned down, giving enough space to think, and she again tried to recall what sequence of events had brought her into this sorry predicament.

I was going to the store, just for some Rosé and cookie dough to throw in the oven, and then...

But there was no "and then". She remembered going into the store, walking around the aisles, spending an unnecessary amount of time choosing her cookies to bake. However, the memories became splotchier and more fragmented the farther along the timeline she got, until the last thing she remembered was standing in line at the cash register with a bottle of wine she had no memory of finding, then another very small fragment of walking towards the exit, automatic doors sliding open. Then nothing.

Though that wasn't entirely true. There was something there, actual memories, chained together in the blackness and connecting her time in the store to the present moment. However, every time she tried to focus on one, it was like trying to pick up sand with open fingers, just slipping from focus. Amy supposed this should concern her more, but really it didn't, and in fact as she pulled away from the darkened memories her brain rewarded her with a small burst of serotonin, though it really couldn't explain why it had done that either, a confusingly artificial reflex.

Slightly relaxed, Amy started to breath in deeply through her nose, before almost immediately gagging, her brief bought of relaxation cut short. The room stank of BO and sweat and something primally sweet, though curdled and rancid as it had mix with the other smells.

She briefly wondered if she was having night sweats again, but even on the worst nights it had never smelled even remotely as bad as this. Pondering this, her thoughts drifted to the feeling of her skin, grimy and sticky, as if she had finished an intense workout and just let the sweat dry on without a shower. Her awareness drifted to the other parts of her body, slowly examining and taking stock, before suddenly coming to a halting stop.

What the fuck am I wearing?

Amy normally didn't curse, not even in her head, but what she felt boggled her mind. In a bustle of motion she opened her eyes, straining against the light that was not quite blinding anymore but by no means pleasant. As her vision adjusted, she threw back the covers and gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

It was more or less a question of what she wasn't wearing on her upper body, which was solely adorned by the slim-chained necklace around her neck, the cross at the end nestled between the small mounds of her breasts. Her skin prickled, nipples stiffening as the cooler air of the bedroom drifted across her body, ridden of the bed sheet. A pair of black, see-through tights wrapped the flair of her hips before dipping in and out of her waist, terminating at a flat waistband gripping the slimness of her abdomen just below her belly button. In the other direction they encased the comparatively slim thickness of her thighs until meeting the tops of black leather boots about a third of the way up from her knees, flaring outwards with the girth of her thighs. Amy had never seen these boots before in her life, and she wracked her brain trying to think of where she managed to find them, coming up blank. The boots wrapped every inch of her legs down to a tight, sharply pointed footbed with a painfully steep, thinly spiked heel. She just started to notice how aching and constricted her feet felt, these types of shoes meant for one thing only, and it wasn't comfort.

What disturbed her most, though, was the large hole torn away in the crotch of her tights, upsetting to say the least as this was her favorite pair she wore to church. Her panties were a scandalously slim black pair she'd likewise never seen before and that made her cheeks burn red at the thought of wearing. They were pushed to the side and folded inwards, exposing the mound of her puffy and reddened lower lips. Her whole pelvis ached with soreness, as if she'd banged it against the wall for an hour, and her... she stopped, gulping, a sense of dread building... lady parts burned raw.

Amy wasn't stupid, but her mind raced for any reasonable explanation other than the one all things pointed to. She began to sit up, lower back groaning in protest, but as she did something fell off the stack of pillows above , tangling with her hair. Yelping, she reached up and grabbed it, flinging it away with a lightning fast motion and watching as it slapped against the wall with a light tap before falling inaudibly to the carpet. She let go of her held breath, feeling slightly stupid. Just a black leather top, barely more than a glorified bra, but again something she didn't own.

With a grunt she sat up again after checking behind her for more discarded articles of clothing, only noticing out of the corner of an eye a black pleated mini skirt loosely hanging over her lamp shade across the room. Legs in an upside-down V, pelvis and hips sorely protesting the position, she hooked her arms around leather-wrapped knees, groaning as her head spun from the all blood rushing out of it. Gazing down, trying to gather herself, her heart caught in her throat as a thin stream of white liquid trickled out of the bottom of her slit and onto bed below, slightly dampening a small bit of a dried, yellowed stain between her thighs.

At this point Amy's composure broke, tears welling up in her eyes. She buried her head in her knees, barely holding back a sob.

Had someone **** her wine?

It was the only rational explanation as to why she'd given herself to someone before marriage, not necessarily a sin in her church's preaching, but a departure from the purity young men and women hoped to maintain, to finally give as a gift to their spouse on the night of their wedding. A gift she could no longer give.

Invalid. Unwanted. Impure. The tears dropping from her eyes hit the sheets in a crescendo of light taps.

You may find yourself in a situation where you have made a mistake. Perhaps in a situation where you have sinned or hurt someone you care about. Or possibly one that is difficult, oppressive, or just incomprehensibly absurd in its challenge. You may want to throw your hands up in exasperation, or curl up in a ball and hide, in both refusing to take action. Regardless of how ridiculous or absurd your present circumstances are, no matter how defeated and hopeless your future may seem, there is something that can never be taken away from you. Your choice of how to react to your circumstances.

Amy's back stiffened as David's words echoed through her mind. She pulled her face from her knees, eyes puffy but showing a characteristic strength that had been molded into her. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she got to work removing those ridiculous boots from her legs.

That action was cut short, however, as every hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood up.

Someone was in the shower.