Distorted voices came to her from far away. Wakey, wakey bitch. Knives sliced at her scalp just before something slammed the entire left side of her head. She was submerged in noise, feeling as if she were spinning slowly, unable to stop long enough to orient herself. Somewhere deep in her brain one thought forced its way to the top.
Fucked up again, hotshot.'
Slowly she opened one eye to find a sideways vista, the nearest object a rather expensive looking pair of men's dress shoes. As her brain tried valiantly to reconcile the images from her visual cortex with other conflicting sensory input, her stomach registered its protest.
Goddammit! Stupid bitch!
The words were still distorted, but the visuals were becoming clearer. The dress shoes were now ruined, though. Ah well, anyone who called her a bitch, probably deserved it,' came the fuzzy thought. Judging by what she'd puked up on the unsuspecting feet, she hadn't eaten much recently. She hoped it didn't mean she'd been unconscious long.
The knives cut into her scalp again as the angle of her vision changed and she realized she was being grabbed by her hair. Listen, Hecht, the only reason you're still alive is that I'm not done punishing you. A snarling face came into view and the words were punctuated with a backhanded slap to the face before she was dropped to the floor.
Pain overtook her as a hard surface slammed forcefully against her other cheek. She felt the air flee her lungs as if in fear and her vision no longer played fair. The room danced around her, playing games with her mind, warping the laughing faces of the two men above her as the lights dimmed and her eyelids betrayed her need to know.