March 13, 1989
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like sweaty skin against hot leather seats in August.
The taste of last night’s indulgence blasted through her senses as she worked to regain consciousness. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was 4:00 am. Soaked in sweat, sheer terror overcame her and rose into her throat, almost choking her. A wave of questions; Where was she?
Where was her car?
How did she get here?
Why was she not sleeping in her room?
What had she done, said, and to whom? She felt sick with the unknowing as she crawled out of the bed, moving to the window to see if her car was outside.
It was pitch black out, except for the street lamp that radiated a golden glow over her front yard. Her car was in her parking space, where it was supposed to to be.
She returned to her bed, thankful that she was alone and hadn’t brought home a stray man, and attempted to pull together the pieces of last night.
Her own self loathing prevented her from falling back asleep, as she wrestled with her inner demons of vile disgust, and a soul-sickness that had no cure. The half-empty cup of wine on the bedside table remedied the raw emotion long enough for her to drift back out of consciousness. The sun rose in the window as she once again folded herself back in to oblivion.