Sarah awoke. It was the next morning. She had a terrible throbbing pain in her head, and that was all she could focus on. She rubbed at her eyes absently, and wished she was capable of thought. Then, after some minutes, many thoughts came flooding back all, more or less, at once. The house had been a hive of activity last she'd been awake, and now it seemed somewhat deserted. She was naked, which was not the way she usually slept. Her dad and step-mum would probably be home soon, and her breasts felt sticky. She also had the horribly uneasy sensation that someone she wasn't entirely sure she had liked had been allowed to come inside her.
Her cheeks felt sticky with last night's tears, and her vomit still rested on her breasts. In fact, she was starting to wonder if this fiction would ever retreat back to it's laugh-out-loud beginnings.
She got up, and headed for the shower, determined not to dwell on what she was rapidly remembering of last night's events. She scraped the excess vomit from herself, and flushed it down the toilet. The sight of day old vomit swirling down the toilet was enough to make her feel she may vomit yet again, so she quickly slammed the lid down, and focussed her attentions elsewhere. She then got in the shower, let the water splash against her breasts, and tried to scrub the stains away, still trying to force her mind into not thinking about the event causing those stains in the first place. For the first time, in as long as she could remember, she was in the shower without feeling paranoid. Possibly whatever force had made her feel this way wasn't currently present, or, possibly she now had so many other things to worry about the paranoia seemed insignificant enough to notice. Once her breasts were cleaned, she permitted herself to break down and cry.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I hope that I can say the things I wish I'd said.