Another brisk gust of wind whips around my bare thighs, and my ensuing shiver almost makes me double over. Fuck this. I’m going home.
I could call an Uber, but I don’t live that far away, and it might be a good idea to walk off some of the frustration I’m currently trying to keep a lid on. There’s even a shortcut if I go through a couple of fields.
Glancing back at the queue, I see the woman who was behind me has disappeared, apparently having been permitted entry into the hallowed halls ofRetribution. She’s probably sipping her first drink and enjoying the warmth of being indoors. Perhaps she’s even already being chatted up by some tall, handsome Dom who’s promising to do all sorts of delicious things to her.
Meanwhile, my nose is starting to run from the cold. I turn and begin the trek back to my apartment.
This is just all so typical. Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?
It’s been six months since Dane and I broke up and, heartbroken over losing the man I had loved and been with for over a year, I had thrown myself into my work, deliberately not thinking about dating, or sex, or BDSM, or anything for which an attractive male partner is required.
Until stupid ass Susan told me about this stupid ass club and that stupid ass James guy, and all my previously buried desires came flooding back to the point where I thought I’d go nuts if I didn’t feel someone’s arms around me again.
Or their hand on my butt.
Or their tongue on my….
Having reached the first field, I pause to take off my high heels, shuddering at the freezing ground beneath my bare feet.When I get home, I vow furiously,I’m going to get into my warm, fluffy unicorn onesie and make myself the biggest mug of hot chocolate, with loads of cream and maybe even sprinkles.
Do I have sprinkles at home?
It doesn’t matter. Even without toppings, there’s something inherently comforting about hot cocoa. Especially when you combine it with cookies.
One benefit to breaking up with someone and having your heart torn to shreds is the inevitable loss of appetite, which inevitably leads to weight loss. For me, anyway. I know others deal with it differently, seeking comfort in food, but I was never one of those women. Still, years of being on the pill added some twenty pounds to my frame, and one upshot of all this crap is that most of that has now dropped off again.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to get into this outfit.
If I wasn’t feeling so sorry for myself, I’d be laughing at my current situation. Once I’m home and no longer having my legs whipped by reedy stalks instead of a hunky Dom, I might already see the funny side to all this. But at this moment in time, I’m throwing myself a massive pity party, and my misery only grows when I lurch off balance with asquelch. There’s a thick, gross slurping sensation around my bare foot. I’ve stepped right into a patch of black mud.
Fucking great.
It’s too dark, I can barely see where I’m going, and there’s no way I can discern enough on the ground to be able to navigate around it, so I decide to go all in and take another step into the cold, slimy gloop.
Mud is meant to be good for the skin, anyway, right? Don’t they do mud facials at spas?
The going is slower now that my feet are being sucked into the ground with every step, and I’m praying the stuff is actually mud, and not some kind of animal poop. That would just be horrendous.
Then again, no animal on this Earth would crap quite so extensively—unless an entire herd decided to use the same spot in which to defecate. I’m walking and walking, and getting more and more tired, and there still doesn’t seem to be any end in sight.
In fact, as I look around, the whole landscape around me seems to be shifting—growing blacker, more ominous, more oppressive.
Here, close to a big city, the sky is usually relatively light even at night but that, too, seems to have darkened.
What the capital eff is going on?
I stop still in my tracks, clutching my purse as if for comfort, my bare feet slowly sinking into the cold, viscous mud, and look around, trying to get my bearings.
Everything around me is just getting darker and darker. Like I’m being suffocated with a huge, wet, black blanket.
Out of nowhere, as if it’s just remembered it needs to react to this new state of fear, my heart begins to pound madly, and my throat feels like it’s closing up.
Great. Now I’m having a panic attack.
With trembling fingers, I scramble to get my phone out of my purse. Am I imagining things, or am I feeling the mud around myanklesnow? I look down for confirmation.
Yep. I’m definitely sinking.
Sinking into the mud.
