Page 6 of Gooey

Chapter 3

Winter

I’m sooooo warm. Heat is surrounding me in the most delicious, consuming way. The woodsy smell invading my every intake of breath fuels a sort of comfort that I’ve never known. I’m drowsy beyond belief and yet, I’ve never felt safer.

My body feels like I’ve been bundled up in front of a fireplace for hours, enjoying an evening away from the bitter cold of outside. Which is odd… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a thing. I’m… am I dreaming?

Roused by my thoughts, I shift, letting out a whimper when the soreness in my arms and legs registers. Memories come flooding back as I wake up, flashing around in my mind. Dad, the knife, the ledge, the horrible water, and then… him. My hero.

My stomach pools with fuzzy warmth and my eyes flutter open, trying to adjust after being sealed firmly shut. The room around me begins to become clearer. It’s mostly dark in here, but there’s a small lamp in the corner of the space providing some light.

Looking down, I find myself in unfamiliar but not unwelcome clothes. A black pair of sweatpants and a pink sweater that are both a bit big but not big enough to fall right off. I smile, feeling how soft they are against my skin.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a gentle voice says. My eyes flick up and I spin around to find her. The woman from before… Nancy? I think.

“Hi,” I whisper nervously.

She looks nice enough, sitting in a leather recliner while knitting something with purple fabric. The woman is older, but not elderly. Maybe forty. I’m glad to see her, but confused by her presence. Dad always said women weren’t allowed here.

“How are you feeling, honey?” she asks, setting down her project. “Do you remember me?”

“Nancy?” I ask, testing the name out loud. Her bright smile in response tells me I’ve got it right before she does.

“Winter, isn’t it?” she replies, coming closer. “I’m going to check your temperature if that’s alright? How’s your soreness?”

“It’s alright,” I agree, sitting up and opening my mouth so she can tuck her thermometer under my tongue. When the battery-powered device beeps, she removes it and I answer her second question. “I feel like my arms and legs are so heavy I can barely move them, but they don’t exactly hurt.”

Nancy hums, looking at the thermometer and then back to me. “They’re exhausted, you may even have strained some muscles, but you haven’t broken anything. Trust me, you’d be crying if you had. You have a low grade fever but nothing to be concerned about, your body is still adjusting to the change in temperature.”

That doesn’t sound too bad, I think to myself.

“I put you in some of my old spares,” the nurse says, nodding to the clothes on me. “I made sure to do it privately as we’re the only women here.”

Oh, well, that’s good to hear.

Shifting a little, I notice fabric I hadn’t felt before. “Am I wearing panties?”

She smiles awkwardly. “Yours were soaked with sea water. I had an unused pair from ordering the wrong size. I was going to return them and never got around to it. I didn’t want you to wake up without them and have you worry.”

“That was nice of you,” I respond, offering a genuine smile. She’s clearly worried she overstepped. “I suppose I wouldn’t have fit in one of your bras, huh?” Breaking up tension is easy if you’re willing to joke a little, I find.

She chuckles, looking down at her much larger chest. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“That’s okay,” I say with a grin. “This sweater is plenty thick enough to hide my small ones.” My breasts are a solid B cup and I’m perfectly content with their size. I think if they were any larger with my frame, I’d have some serious back pain.

My mother was rail thin and I inherited that from her. She always said I got my butt from her grandmother, though. It’s a cute butt, and I mentally thank her for it every time jeans don’t glide right off my behind.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable,” she mentions with a soft smile. “You must be hungry, though. Are you?”

Right on cue, my stomach rumbles with a pained groan.

I flush. “A bit, it seems.”

“We’ll get you some warm soup to fill your stomach without upsetting it,” Nancy tells me. “I have to ask… honey, how long have you been here?”

Frowning, I look down into my lap. A stray tear leaks from the corner of my eye as I tell her, “Two years.”

“Oh, Winter,” she mutters sadly. “Is there… is there anyone you want me to call? Was that man your real father?”

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