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.
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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.
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