I LET A STRANGER EAT MY PUSSY

I woke up with a throbbing headache, the kind that felt like a jackhammer in my skull. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw the blinding sun pouring in through the windowsill, and I placed a wager on recalling the previous night's events. Muscle pain flared in places I never imagined, and every little movement brought a stabbing sensation.

What happened?

I concentrated my gaze on the white floor, and a sudden panic shot up my spine. The sheets felt soft against my skin, and then I realized there was nothing else. I looked down and immediately realized what a complete nude I was. A beat coursed through my veins as the events played out in a constructed and compacted way in my mind.

I remembered John his deep voice, the way he'd held me with a combination of worry and longing. Indeed, if he moved closer, I could almost taste the warmth of his body against mine. “Isabella, don’t overdo the alcohol,” he'd commented as his hand gently touched my shoulder.

Then came the kiss. I sensed it lit a fuse in me, a hunger I hadn’t even been aware of a hunger I had suppressed. I’d signed into him, “More, I want it,” my breath a strangled form of desire. I could almost feel the rasp of his breath as he stripped off his clothes and the sensation of his fingers awakening each nerve ending.

“Isabella,” he'd breathed, his lips finding my neck. “You’re beautiful.”

I clamped my eyes shut as hard as I could to drown out the tide of shame washing over me. How could I have let this happen? I got drunk, kissed a stranger, and lost myself in a haze of alcohol and misery. Now, I was stranded, with only regret to fall back on.

I draped the sheets off the bed and brought my legs down, tucking them under me as I felt the coolness of the floor brushing against my skin. I needed to gather my thoughts, to make sense of what I’d done. At that moment, the pain in my head shot up to the point that I felt like I was losing my balance, and I grabbed the end of the bed for support.

What had I done?

I took a deep breath, trying to see through the fog of confusion surrounding me. At the base of the bedside table, I noticed a note a piece of paper with a name on it: “John.” Right beside it was a pristine pile of money one million dollars in stacks of the most beautiful crisp bills. My heart sank further. What was this? A payment for a night of weakness?

The shocking video! The hashtags flooded my feed: #RunawayBride, #BarDrama, #Isabella.

“This can’t be,” I muttered to myself, my voice breaking. Filming of that drunk, awkward experience of mine was circulating on the internet. I could feel the walls closing in around me, the weight of shame settling on my back like a tsunami.

I needed to leave. I needed to escape this nightmare.

I got caught in the weave of my way to the bathroom, splashing cold water over my face to dislodge the memories of the previous night. However, the reflection staring back at me was not wholly myself; it was a different person, almost unrecognizable. I manifested an apparition with heavy eyes and hollowness below them.

“No more alcohol,” I muttered as the low tones of my voice reached my ears. I couldn’t let this happen again. I needed to regain control of my life.

After gathering my things, I made a decision. I would relocate start fresh somewhere far away from the embarrassment of my past. I couldn’t face anyone, not after what had happened.

Three weeks passed, and I found myself helpless in a doctor's office, my body aching. I had undergone plastic surgery to change my appearance as a way to forget my history. Every time I looked in the mirror, I felt that the outlandish face staring back at me was foreign. But I felt as though I had regained control, that I could start anew as a different individual.

But then, the unexpected happened.

I experienced a constant, annoying sensation of abdominal pain that wouldn’t cease. I went to see another doctor, and as soon as he entered, his face was grave.

“Isabella,” he started, looking at the chart resting in his hands. “We need to discuss the results of your tests.”

“Results?” I echoed, anxiety creeping into my voice. “What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant,” he stated, his gaze steady.

Those two words hit me like a freight train. “No, that can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant.”

The doctor continued, “I understand this is painful, but it is definitely confirmed. You need to consider your options carefully.”

“Options?” Panic rose within me as the walls seemed to close in again. “I want to abort it. Unfortunately, given my circumstances, there’s no other possibility that can open my avenue to pregnancy.”

The doctor hesitated, his expression softening. “Isabella, I have to warn you. There’s a risk of uterine perforation if you proceed with an abortion. There is a good possibility you may not be able to conceive again.”

I stared at him, disbelief etched into my features. I was being forced to choose between my life and this.

“Yes,” he replied gently. “I can’t make the decision for you, but it’s important to weigh the consequences.”

I could feel the tears about to spill down my cheeks, and my heart beat against my breastbone. The weight of it all fell over me like a tidal wave, a thousand tragedies crashing down in one moment. Just as I had revamped my life, I found out that I was pregnant.

“Isabella?” the doctor’s voice broke through my thoughts. “What do you want to do?”

I stared blankly at him, my mind racing. I imagined I was about to give way, the platform stretching beneath my weight. I was not strong enough to withstand any more, but with my feet planted firmly, I was confronted with the need to make a choice blinded by the enormity of it.

With my heart racing and uncertainty clouding my mind, I realized I was at a crossroads a decision that would shape my life forever.