A/N: This was done for a psychology experiment after reading and discussing the Many faces of Eva. Instead of me, I used Rouge because she is the eldest female in the group and the most sensual. I don't plan on continuing this but I might; it's still undecided.
The cool water at the brim of the glass gently sways over to the side and falls onto my hardwood floor. It makes a loud splashing soud and my head begins to ring from severe pain. Not again, please not again. Taking a large sip from the glass, I quickly swallow my meds, one blue one pink. It lessens the severity of the splitting headache while simultaneously curving that edge that leads unto damnation. The room starts to spin and the random miscellaneous colors slewn carelessly around my kitchen merge together to form one large multi-colored spectrum. I close my eyes and everything fades to blood red. I can't stop myself from shaking uncontrollably. I feel myself grip onto the sink for support as my knees give way. They begin to buckle and my weight is becoming too much for them to pilar. I collapse and find myself in fetal position near my burning dishwasher. The intense heat coming from the appliance moistens my shirt but it's not even considered an issue as of now. I'm fighting her off, but I'm losing the battle tremendously. The red grows darker, and I feel myself shaking more violently. My back scraps the metal edges of the washer and the cool copper-rich life source gently pools out. I can feel it dampening my already soaked coat as it falls onto the hardwood in drops. My eyes are shut tighter, but the red is still no where near fading. It grows darker, stronger, passionate. I dare not, open my eyes to face the spiraling vortex of pigments, but I can feel it there. The fierce wind kisses my face as I desperately beg to stay sane.
A red halter dress priced at 3,000 GOLD RINGS is my temptation in an upscale boutique downtown. I need something to go party in. I can't drink in an unsuitable outfit now can I?
I shake my head violently to escape the plaguing dream. Not again, not this time. I won't let it happen again. Waking up in the middle of a strangers bed with nothing but handcuffs tying my to a bedpost as the smell of Diaka Vodka made my stomach churn. My makeup was smeared and my fur was filled with sticky substances I rather not identify. I saw one shoe I do not recall buying on a Television antenna while its counterpart laid near the doorway. A skimpy black dress taunted me from an open closet as it held my purse near its feet. I don't remember purchasing that one either. And then the loud rumble of a male's voice brought me back to reality and the tears began rolling, never finding as reason to stop. That was the last time.
His hands guided up my dress as the music's tempo increased in speed and rhythm. I felt myself begin to grow somewhat aroused and decided to take it a step further.
I stopped everything and kissed him on his nose, trading places with him so I was on top and he was now on the bottom. "I want you." I mouthed out silently as I began to undo the skull head of his belt buckle. I felt him smile and lick his lips as his wonton hands made home to the sides of my thick, full-figured hips. One finger slipped under my panty-line and I found myself getting incredibly turned on by it.
"You like that sugar?"
His voice was husky and full of unresolved lust. I could feel him rise to the occasion as I finally got the leather belt off, throwing it into the wind and not caring where it landed.
All I could do was nod.
The wind blowing across my face seems to be getting more forceful. I feel the meds kicking in, but far too slow for my taste. The shaking has gone from violent to ferociously uncontrollable and I find myself growing abnormally cold. More blood seeps through my pure fur as the metal edge of the dishwasher lodges in my open wound repeatedly. This part usually signals the end. It worsens before it gets better.
His tempo was constant, alacrity outstanding and impressing the seductress of them all. He'd go in for the kill, but pull out before I had a chance to allow a single breath. The music blared loudly and the dark atmosphere cloaked us from eyes. An array of single beams of neon scattered around here and there but it only made the scene more erotic. My back was pushed up against the leather booth cushion as the large wooden table between it all squeezed his exposed buttocks. I think I dropped my shoe somewhere between the switch in positions but I don't care. That edge into damnation is nearing with each time he teases me. It gets further and further into forbidden territory, getting closer and closer to the button that sends me over the brink of insanity. I scream out the words to his name, but I don't know if they are right. I've said many things in the past few years that sounded like male labels to correctly identify.
It calms but still goes without mercy as I desperately try to cling on. Sweat has pooled on my face and I can feel it mingle with my mascara and run down in a single, fine lined trail. My breathing is rugged. My shaking is at its maximum. It's over.
Warm heat fills me and I smile in satisfaction as we part. He is breathing rapidly and in a slightly uneven pattern. I just lay my head back onto the booth cushion and relax, the cool air of the nightclub hitting my exposed woman feeling quite nice and satisfying. He offers his number but I decline the offer and tell him I'm a one-night only kind of gal. He smirks and leaves it with me anyway as he asks one of the waiters to bring an apple martini my way. I inwardly smile. I can hear him begin to dress in his forgotten jeans and belt from the loud clink of that metal skull head buckle. He says whispers in my ear but I don't pay much mind to it. I just nod and wave him off as I open my eyes to see a fine, sexy fox waiter standing before me with a lustful gaze, a nice body, and a tray stacked with my apple martini. I commanded that he set the glass down and leave me in peace. He looked dumbfounded but did as told. I had enough fun and decided I'd give Rouge a break. She'll feel this one in the morning.
Then it all stopped. No wind, no shaking, no red. It was silent, minus the soft hum coming from the dishwasher. I was still cold, but I could ignore that fact. I opened my eyes and saw my kitchen. No vortex, no color spectrum, no whirlwind that made me almost want to enforce the gag reflex. It was my regular kitchen, in the same condition it was before 'it' happened. A brief smile graced my tender face as one of my manicured hands wiped the sweat off of my forehead. My knees were back and I could feel my legs again. I believed I finally done it. Sitting up, I examined my area. A small pool of blood had stained the floor and the lower half of my back pained like hell. The sweat pants and T-shirt combo I wore had been replaced with a red halter dress that barely covered my backside. The cozy slipper socks my feet once adorned had been lost and substituted for red heels I can't even walk in. The worst was the sudden jolt of pain I felt in my lower abdomen as I bent over and found myself laying on the hardwood floor once again. Opening my legs, I found I had no panties on and I was covered in substance from my lips to the apex of my thighs. I had no more tears to spare because this is the fortieth time I found myself waking up to this reality. I can do nothing more than begin to make my way to the shower and allow the hot water to somewhat cleanse me. I don't even own my own body anymore and I'm starting to accept that fact each time.
A/N: Yeah, I had to do this as a narrative for Psyche class. PM me if you are confused. If I explain EVERYTHING, it'll be another two pages that most won't read.