Snippet #2557004

Once the blonde man left her in the bedroom, Jennifer sat at the foot of the bed and took a few deep breaths. This was...so much more than she could have imagined. So many people of varying sizes and attitudes...they were nothing like the men. The men were all static, almost identical to one another: the same smooth voice that made her feel about as big as a grain of rice, the same flat eyes that saw every mistake she'd make, the same rough touch that left her feeling chafed and used and awful. The men were all the same, after the same thing, giving her the same rules and punishments. But these people...they were all different. Two women besides herself (though could she honestly call herself a woman anymore? She wasn't anything but an empty hull, no gender could make her into what she had been), and two men, but none of them looked the same. The blonde man and the one who had carried her bore such different statures, voices nothing alike, even rhythmically. And among the women, Jennifer felt...alone. She was not one of these people.

But you were, my darling. You were just like them, and you belonged with them!

She was? Was it even possible that she could have been that strong once? It didn't seem likely. But oh, how she wanted it to be true. As she toed off her boots, peeled off socks and stripped down to the nude, she thought. She tried, desperately, to access the part of her that might once have been strong, like the woman on the roof, or the man that had carried her. She thought, and strained, and tried to find it...but nothing came. There was no strength in her. Not anymore. Jennifer crawled under the sheets, and curled into a tight ball, all knees and elbows, awaiting slumber to take her away. Just as she was dropping off however, something bloomed in her thoughts, and she could remember, see herself, calling out to someone.

"Blondie, hurry up."

"Blondie, over here."

"Blondie, you idiot."

"Blondie."

"Blondie."

"Blondie."

Eyes snapping open, Jennifer sucked in air and felt a mixture of joy and excruciating pain. She clenched the sheets between her fingers, balling them up into fists as she tried to breathe through the anguish. Blondie. Her Blondie. That's who he was. He was her Blondie. She didn't know what that meant, but she knew he was her Blondie. She wanted to know why. She would find out. But even this small memory, this small discovery, had left her paralyzed with pain, tears forcing their way out as she whimpered and shook with pain. For an hour, two, she lay as the pain ripped rampant through her body, and finally began to drain away as the sun's bright rays started to creep into the window.

Slowly, her movements stiff from pain, mind still whirring, the raven-headed girl pulled herself to a sitting position, tugging the sheets around herself in a wad of clean, warm protection. She dared to even smile, though it did not reach her eyes. Gaze falling out the window, watching the sun grow higher and stronger, Jennifer felt a little less empty, and a little more peaceful. She knew something. She finally knew something that she actually wanted to know. And she could hardly wait until the blonde man awoke, so she could look at him and say, with as much emotion as her frail self could muster,

"Good morning, Blondie."