Bruises

.1

Her eyes opened as the alarm clock filled the room with Tom McGraw. She stayed there, snug and warm, and wondered why she was crying. Hesitantly, she touched her face, and felt the sticky paths that told her she had been crying since before she was awake. But why? Her dream hadn't been that bad, she told herself. 2

Shaking her head, she turned off the alarm clock and stretched, wincing as her various joints popped. Presentation today, she thought, better start getting ready. As she stretched her arms behind her, her wrist caught the edge of the tv stand and she cursed. 3

Walking across the room, she reached for the doorknob, and stopped, looking at her outstretched arm. There was a bruise on her wrist. "Now I know I didn't hit it that hard, and there's no way it could be that color if I just got it," she said out loud. Then she shrugged. "Nothing I can do about it."4

In the bathroom, she studied her pimple peppered face, frowning. "Thanks, stress," she muttered, and reached for the button on her jeans. But it was already undone. So was her zipper, and her underwear was on backwards. 5

"What in the hell is going on?" She felt a soft throbbing in her thighs, her arms. "What's been happening to me?"6

This wasn't the first time she had woken up this way. It seemed to happen every few weeks. She couldn't understand it. She was a light sleeper, slept in a fully lighted room with the door locked and window secured. So how was someone getting in at night to rape her?7