Page 3 of Beg Me Angel

My lids popped open, eyes darting around the room. There was this intense feeling of fear settling over me as I looked around and realized I wasn't in my own bed.

The walls were covered in pictures I didn't recognize, the feel of the coarse flannel blanket that was spread over my body was foreign and not even close to the soft fluff of my floral comforter at home.

The walls were made of whole logs, stained with a glossy clear finish, filling the air with the smell of stale, old lacquer. The soft glow of an oil lamp washed dark shadows over the knots and divots in the wood as a set of antlers hoisted high in the peak of the cathedral ceiling scratched long claw marks across the eaves.

Where the hell am I?

Shooting up in the bed, my fingers curled into the itchy fabric as I blinked rapidly, trying to focus and center myself. I felt woozy and drained, like I had been devoured from the inside out by some sickness.

Taking in a deep breath, I brushed the hair away from my face and anxiously scanned the floor for my shoes. I had this sudden urge to flee, to take off running and I wasn't sure why.

Where the fuck am I?

Did I get wasted last night?

The idea was unsettling, I wasn't a drinker, and even if I had decided to have a beer, it wouldn't have been enough to cause a total blackout.

I have to go, I need to get home.

I need to get out of here.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, every inch of my body ached and grated as I moved. I felt bruising on my hips and a tightness as I bent my legs. Every muscle seemed tense and sore like I had been holding the weight of the world up for days.

Pulling up the legs of my pants, I glanced over myself, noticing huge, red scrapes on both of my knees and large purple stains spotting my calves. All my joints were swollen and my ankles were nonexistent, caked in dried blood.

Holy hell. What the fuck did I do?

I sat in shock, staring at my limbs with utter disbelief. I didn't remember getting hurt, I had no memory of falling or stumbling. Nothing.

Holding my hands up to my face, dirt was embedded under my nails, covering the tops of my fingers and tinting my palms a deep brown.

Gripping the base of my neck, I raked my fingers up through my hair, knocking small bits of debris and flakes of leaves into the air, watching them scatter and drop into my lap. My eyes held the tiny particles as they fell in slow motion, coming to settle on my thighs.

What the fuck happened to me?

Plucking a pine needle off my leg, I held it between two fingers, rolling it back and forth.

Why can't I remember anything?

Whatever had happened, whatever it was that I couldn't drudge up in memory, I knew it couldn't be good. There was no way in hell I would look like this and feel the way I did if it was.

Taking in a deep breath, I wanted to cough, but I held it in. My chest was on fire, burning the back of my throat like I had just inhaled a huge plume of hot ash. Hugging my ribs, I did my best to cough as gently as I could, but the pain seared my insides like sharp needles, forcing me to hunch forward.

What the fuck is going on?

I tried like hell to recount the details of the night, to force my brain to turn like a well oiled machine. But I couldn't remember what happened or how the hell I ended up here in this cabin.

All the pictures in my head were scattered and mingling, torn and shredded. Nothing was fitting together to make a full image.

All the snapshots were a Rubik's cube of small blips, rotating over and over in my mind. Tiny, half-fragmented bursts of being in a car, flashes of trees, the soft glow of headlights on dirt, they just kept rolling but ended in nothing.

Scrunching my eyes shut, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to put the pictures in some sort of order.

But it wasn't working. What I could see, what faint memories were there, were so small and so fast, that I couldn't adjust the order or length to know what came first or what happened after.

Planting my palms on the mattress, I stared at the floor, tapping my toes anxiously. Spotting my sneakers against the side of a tall, five drawer dresser, I took a slow breath to try and calm my nerves.

I don't have time for this, I need to get home.

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