Sharp light and a headache woke Rhonda. She didn’t want to move. If she didn’t move then the headache would stay outside her body. If she didn’t move then everything awful would cease to exist.
The feel of the sheets against her naked body and the warmth of the bed helped lull her into believing the headache would go away entirely if she just slept a little more. Alas, her stomach wouldn’t allow it.
She bolted for the bathroom and spent the next little while leaning over the toilet, emptying the contents of her gut. Eventually she flushed the toilet then moved her very bare self to the basin, washing her face and bending over it, face down, hoping the nausea would pass.
All she could see was white and chrome. White basin, chrome plug hole, white wall, chrome taps. Every molecule of whit
