-8 months ago-
When she came to, the first thing Kemmy registered was the rain. It wasn't a violent downpour, but it was a persistent, light drizzle that seemed to seep into her very bones. It traced cold paths down her temples, plastering strands of what felt like an impossible amount of hair to her skin. The second thing was the splitting headache, a relentless, pounding drum behind her eyes that made the simple act of consciousness an agony.
"Good God, my head…" she muttered under her breath.
Charles, that absolute bastard.
The thought was a venomous hiss in the quiet of her mind. It was the only thing that made sense. The argument. The fury that had coiled in her gut like a serpent when she'd thrown the pictures at him – the proof of his betrayal, of the lies he'd woven so seamlessly into their life together. The pictures had been splattered all over the internet, for after all, who did not know that Charles Monroe, the Charles Monroe, and her were in a committed relationship.
She remembered the look on his face, the cheating cheater was not remorseful. Instead, his face was filled with annoyance, as if her discovery of his infidelity was a mere inconvenience.
She had turned her back on him, needing to breathe. Then she stepped off the curb, her vision blurred with tears of rage. Then came the screech of tires, a blinding flash of headlights, and a horrifying, crushing impact that had stolen the air from her lungs and sent her spinning into a vortex of darkness.
And now this. Waking up in the middle of… somewhere. Alone. The rage from before returned, feeling much like fire against the chilling dampness that surrounded her.
"He just left me here," she muttered, her voice a raw croak. The sound was swallowed by the gentle patter of rain on leaves. She pushed herself up on her elbows, the movement sending a fresh wave of nausea through her. "He saw me get hit by a car and he just… dumped me on the side of the road and left? Unbelievable. That fucking bastard."
She imagined him panicking, not for her, but for himself. Worried about the police, about having to explain what happened. It was so perfectly, despicably him. He couldn't even handle the consequences of his own infidelity, let alone a potential manslaughter charge, especially not after his career was finally picking up. Her heart, already shattered by his cheating, fractured further at the thought of his cowardice.
As she wrestled herself into a sitting position, another complaint was already forming on her lips. A complaint about the mud seeping through her jeans, about the ruin of her favorite designer t-shirt. But the words died in her throat.
This wasn't her t-shirt.
She looked down, and her mind went blank. She was swathed in layers of heavy, dark blue fabric that felt like velvet. The dress was exquisitely made, with intricate silver embroidery coiling around the cuffs of long, ridiculously wide sleeves and along a low, square neckline. The material was thick, impossibly warm despite being damp, and reeked of an earthy, floral perfume that definitely was not her RentyBeauty Perfume.
"What in the actual…" she whispered, lifting a sleeve with trembling fingers. The weight of it was substantial. This was no costume shop rental and the material felt nothing like anything she had ever endorsed. Having seen and come into contact with so many different types of clothing, she could immediately tell that this was a garment of incredible quality, the kind of thing you'd see in a drama. It was the absolute last thing she would ever wear on her days off.
Her anger at Charles flared again, now tinged with a bizarre, hysterical confusion. "Did that dumbass change my clothes? While I was fucking unconscious? What kind of sick, twisted… Is this his idea of a joke? Dress up the girlfriend you just let get run over and dump her in the woods?"
The thought was so ludicrous it almost made her laugh. It was a harsh, broken sound that ended in a sob. Her hands, which she now noticed were slender and pale with perfectly manicured nails, clenched in the damp earth. She sniffled.
She had to get up. She had to figure out where she was and get home. She had work in the morning and her manager would throw a fit if she was not asleep in her bed for the recommended eight hours of sleep she dearly needed.
She would deal with Charles later. Oh, she would deal with him.
With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking under the unaccustomed weight of the dress. The world tilted violently for a moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the vertigo. Her head was throbbing even more painfully with her movement. When she opened her eyes again, the full reality of her surroundings hit her.
This wasn't the side of a road.
She was standing in a small clearing, surrounded by ancient looking, moss-covered trees whose leaves formed a dense canopy overhead, filtering the grey light of the moon. The air was clean and crisp, filled with the scent of wet earth, pine, and decaying leaves – it was definitely not the familiar city smell of exhaust fumes and hot asphalt she was used to. A short distance away, a river snaked through the forest, its waters running clear and swift over a bed of smooth, grey stones.
There was no sign of civilization. No distant hum of traffic, no concrete or steel. Just the green and brown of the wilderness, and the hushed sounds of nature. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, and Kemmy was sure that she could hear the howling of a wolf as well.
A new emotion began to push aside her anger… fear. This wasn't just dumping her on the side of the road. This was… He must have driven for hours to find a place this remote. He had thrown her away, discarded her somewhere no one would ever find her, all to save his own skin. The sheer, calculated cruelty of his actions stole her breath.
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging, but she angrily blinked them back. Crying wouldn't help her in this situation. Panicking wouldn't help. She needed a plan. The first was to get back to civilization.
"Okay, Kemmy, think," she said aloud, her voice trembling slightly. "Water flows downhill. Rivers and streams usually lead to bigger rivers, and bigger rivers usually lead to towns." It was flimsy logic, gleaned from survival shows she'd half-watched, but it was something. It was a start.
She quickly made up her mind, and decided to head downstream.
But before she started walking, she looked at her hands. They were covered in mud and grime from the forest floor. The thought of walking for who-knew-how-long with filthy hands was inexplicably irritating. A small, familiar comfort was what she needed in this seemingly impossible situation.
Yes.
She just needed to rinse them off before starting down the river.