Not This Time
Chapter 2: Gone to Hell

Copyright© 2016 to Elder Road Books

When the first ray of the sun hit my eyes, I scooted over. When it hit me again, I scooted back into the wall. The next time I rolled over and faced the wall. Why didn’t I close the shades last night? Hell. I wasn’t even sure how I got to bed. I was so drunk. And now I was so hung over.

I hugged the wall and tried to find a cool spot on my pillow to lay my head. You’d think in a hotel this expensive the bed would be a little farther from the wall so you could walk around it. The thought of walking made my stomach turn. If I could stand up, I could make it to the bathroom. I rolled toward the other edge of the narrow bed and nearly fell out before I got my feet under me. The room spun and I lurched out into the hall to get to the bathroom.

I felt better after I puked. I started the shower running and finally turned to face myself in the mirror. Well, I was a little worse for wear. Last night had been ... well, I didn’t really remember much. I had slightly dark circles beneath my eyes, but they’d go away. There was something about my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in years, it matched the way I thought about myself. Unless I was actually looking in a mirror, I felt ageless. I still thought of myself as a seventeen-year-old but was trapped in a fat, aging body that didn’t get out much. But the crows’ feet that reminded me of my age on most mornings were gone. Smooth. Skin without a blemish. Dark blue eyes that saw clearly, even through the hung-over haze.

I stepped back and looked down my body. My skin glowed. No wrinkles. No sag. It was young and tan and healthy. My middle-aged stomach was flat and I could actually see the edge of my hipbones. And then I looked down.

“Fuck! Shit! God damn it!”

Come and blood matted my pubic hair. I was terrified. I remembered looking at this sight twenty-five years ago. I was young again. I was seventeen. I knew this bathroom. It wasn’t a hotel. I was home. I remembered that hotel so long ago in the future. I remembered dying. I remembered my lifeless eyes still wide open staring at myself in the mirrored ceiling long after the lights were out. I’d died in the Hotel California.

And here I was, the morning after, back in my family home in Fargo Fucking North Dakota staring at the evidence of last night’s post-prom debauchery. I’d just left this place three days ago, finally getting out of the misery of my forced marriage and leaving the house I’d lived in for forty-two years.

This had to be hell. Condemned to live my life over again, knowing every mistake I’d made, unable to stop it happening again. Why? Why was I damned to hell? I’d been good. I did everything right. I’d already suffered this life.

Fuck! If I was going to be sent back in time to relive my life, why couldn’t it have been to the day before I made the worst mistake of my life? Why the day after? I reflexively clenched my pelvic muscles and felt the pain in my pussy where I knew a tiny life had started last night.

I was seventeen and pregnant.

 
There is more of this chapter...
The source of this story is Storiesonline

To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account (Why register?)

Get No-Registration Temporary Access*

* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.