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When I come back into my body my head is pounding and my mouth is dry. I have never felt such intense heaviness in my muscles as I focus on the rhythmic rise and fall of my ribcage. My eyelids struggle to open and I am no longer on the table, instead I am in a heavenly soft bed with the blankets pushed up to my chest. I take a moment to groan and try to gather myself together. I am in a new place and I am not okay. Pain thrums in my hands like their own personal heartbeat and I try to brace myself on my elbows as I push myself up.
The room was a pale gray color, the furniture a dark, glossy black. It was stylish, the most modern decorations cluttered the area giving it a stylized personal feel. But I could tell it was not a personal feel. There was no real personalization- no smell of cologne or perfume lingered in the air, the sheets were too stiff to have ever been slept in, the pillows far to plump to have ever been under another persons head. Whoever this room belon
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