Rachel looks for her clothes

Pausing, Rachel looked around, trying to figure out where her clothes had gone to. She tottered around the room, pausing to look out onto the balcony to see if they might be there. With the bright sunlight feeling like it was corroding her eyeballs she could only risk quick glances and saw nothing other than a glass-walled rail and the apartments opposite their own. She gave up on the balcony, turned, and spotted a corner of something sticking out from under the couch.

"Aha!" she muttered, getting down on all fours and crawling from the window to the couch, reaching to retrieve the item.

"What? A note? Dammit. 'Had a great time. Call us for more,'" she read in horror. "Us? Oh God, how many of them were there?"

Rachel's forehead sank to the ground, and she clenched her eyes tighter as she felt it land in a semi-congealed puddle of semen.

Just my luck, she thought. And no sign of condoms, either. God, she could've caught anything. She could even be pregnant!

Unlike her slut of a sister Rachel had tried to be a good girl throughout high school. She hadn't been on the pill since she was thirteen like Ceci had. She'd always thought her times with boys would be romantic. She'd fantasize that he'd do the chivalrous thing and bring his own condom for when she was finally ready. After the candles were lit and the four-course meal was done, of course.

Then of course the back-of-the-car encounters replaced the daydream in a drunken blur and she'd wake up hating herself and praying she wasn't pregnant. Optimism and a stubborn streak would then keep her from going on the pill herself. It wasn't like it happened more than... she veered away from completing that thought.

"Us..." she muttered one more time, and began to straighten when she saw something else under the couch. "My clothes?"

After taking a closer look she wasn't so certain it really was her clothes. It was fabric, and as she pulled it out with thumb and forefinger she saw that the tiny rumpled piece of cloth was indeed a dress. Or the remains of one. It looked big enough to be a conservative bikini, but on closer look it was just a very light fabric that had crumpled up into a deceivingly small ball and stayed that way because of the crusty stains saturating it.

"Oh God..." she repeated again, and dropped the foul remains of a dress onto the floor. "I need a shower. A long, hot shower."

Rachel's string of bad luck continued, however, as she tottered back into the bathroom, bending over the sink to remove the high-heels before turning to the clear glass doors of the shower.