The prompt will be in bold in the story.
Head pounding, Kat slowly blinked open her eyes and squinted, trying to make out her surroundings. It smelled a little like wet earth and moldering leaves. There was a bare lightbulb in a table lamp across the room–the wire of the bent harp cast odd, elongated shadows across the floor, reminding her of bony fingers.
She tried to sit up and look around, but her wrists were cuffed to an old metal bed frame. Icy fear slithered through her veins, twisting her stomach. As quietly as possible, she tried to wriggle her hands free of the cuffs, but they were too tight. Shivering nausea washed over her and she pulled her feet closer to her body on the lumpy mattress and tried to figure out where the hell she was.
A rustic–very rustic cabin of some sort. It looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She had the niggling feeling that she’d been here before. Maybe for a party? But god…she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been to a party. It had been years.
The door creaked open, and Kat’s gaze whipped toward the sound. Someone stood there in one of those giant, hooded, yellow rain slickers. The kind she’d only ever seen on boxes of frozen fish in the grocery stores.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
Kat squinted, trying to remember where she’d heard the woman’s voice before.
“You slept all day. I thought you were going to sleep all night, too.” She moved closer, carrying Kat’s purse. Finally, she set it near the foot end of the bed and tugged the hood off her head, then slipped off the wet coat and draped it over the footboard.
Kat stared at the woman’s small, squinty blue eyes, caked with entirely too much dark liner and mascara, making her eyes look even smaller and squintier. Finally, it dawned on her. “Cathy?”
Her former coworker smiled, her dark, brick-red lipstick making her lips look like thin, angry scratches against her pale face. “I’m going by ‘Cat’ now.” She sat down on the bed next to Kat and giggled. “We’re just as cozy as a litter of kittens in here!”
She reached out and grabbed Kat’s hand and started tugging at her rings. Kat made a fist, but Cathy pried open her fingers and yanked the rings off
“What the hell are you doing?” Kat demanded as Cathy slid the rings on to her own neatly manicured fingers.
Leaning forward, Cathy gently brushed the hair off Kat’s face. “It’s okay. You don’t have to love me.” She pressed a kiss on Kat’s forehead, and Kat cringed at the sensation of sticky lipstick she couldn’t wipe away. “Not right away,” Cathy added. “But you’ll learn to.”
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