Her knee slammed into the corner of a glass-covered night table as she struggled to sit up, the sharp pain serving to awaken her senses.
Outside, fog horns called to each other through a dense mist like giant beasts in search of their mates, while inside her bare foot brushed against the empty bottle of “Jose Cuervo” that had transported her from her own.
Her eyes began to focus, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings until her gaze fell upon the discarded heap of satin and white lace lying on the floor, causing a swell of panic to encase her in its grip once again: The pounding of the church organ, the suffocating scent of a thousand gardenias, the eyes – so many eyes – bearing down upon her every step.
From behind, she could feel him stir as his arm moved slowly to encircle her bare waist – like a noose.
From the prompt “foggy” at Five Sentence Fiction.