Her ears still rang; she never expected everything to be quite so loud. The cheers, the music, the everything. Her body ached all over, to put it lightly. No, in the most accurate description she could think of, it felt like every bone in her entire body was broken; every muscle torn to shreds and left barely hanging off the bone if it was indeed still there at all and not bunched up, pressing on the deepest layer of her skin. Her head throbbed and sharp pains still stabbed at her forehead, where she'd landed after she utterly botched one move and fell face first into the ring apron. On top of all that, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered about with the same intensity they had before and during the match, which was reflected in her jittery, bouncing steps and wild, flailing arm motions as she tried to tire herself out. Every set of eyes she passed was fixed on her, she concluded as she rounded a corner that led her to a hallway she vaguely remembered from her trip to the ring, and the anxiety made her feel sick to her stomach. She refused to breathe, for fear that the next breath would be the one where she'd puke.

She pressed one hand up against her mouth and let herself fall into the drab, gray cement wall. Still in a state of disbelief from the preceding events, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and brought both hands up to her eyes, bursting out into hysterical laughter.

There are a lot of things you can call Iris Oppenheimer, but loser isn't one of them. Not tonight.

Her head bobbed back and forth as the laughter escaped her mouth. She seemed to be in control of it at first, but it didn't take long for her to crescendo her way into an almost involuntary manic cackle. Which, in and of itself didn't last very long either, as her lungs started to throb and the laughter became coughing and she pressed the crook of her elbow to her mouth, pushing herself off the wall with the other. On spaghetti legs she wobbled, falling back against wall hard enough to produce a grimace before straightening herself out. The taste of blood lingered on her tongue as it had for as long as she could remember without hurting her head too much, though as she pushed off the wall once more she felt it wash over her mouth and it wasn't until she swallowed a glob of copper saliva that she realized she had a cut inside her mouth.

She tongued at it, flinching as its tip poked the raw flesh on the inside of her left cheek. Her hands trembled as she tried to shove them into her pockets. She turned to continue on down the seemingly endless hall that she scarcely remembered. Hopefully it would bring her to where she'd left her stuff though with her luck and navigational skills she'd be about as likely to wind up in Norway as she would be finding the room she put her stuff in. Stopping for a brief second in the middle of the hall, she spun all the way around on one heel, hoping to find someone who could point her in the right direction, but instead found no one. She closed her eyes and continued on. Now, she wasn't aware she had in fact closed her eyes and she couldn't even feel that she was walking. No, she was gliding. Her steps lighter than air, she moved to a rhythm only she could hear; spinning, swaying, how majestic was it she moved. Though nothing quite matched the moment in which she opened her eyes. Just a second before slamming facefirst into a wall.

A thud erupted over the music in her head and she bounced off the wall, landing flat on her ass on the cement floor. A series of coughs escaped her mouth as she struggled to keep her lunch down. She shook her head, trying to force out any pesky cobwebs that stuck around after the impact before pushing herself up to her feet. After that, one hand returned to her forehead, rubbing the new sore spot while she dusted herself off with the other. After she was finished, she put that hand against the wall to use as a crutch to prop herself up as she dragged herself down the hallway, until finally the wall ended and she fell into a wooden door. She let her hand fall onto the handle, pushing it down while the rest of her body weight leaning against the door caused it to fall open, almost taking her off balance again. Almost.

She regained her balance just before leaving her feet and straightened herself out, giggling. Then, a terrible smell came over her, emanating from somewhere in the room but something else caught her attention. Her bag. A quick look of the surroundings confirmed it, this was where she had left in. In a supply closet. She knelt down by her bag, laying in the center of the tiny room and unzipped it, throwing the big flap on the top of the bag to the side. When she did, she discovered the source of the smell.

A shit filled condom, resting neatly at the top of the bag.

She gagged, leaning over shoulder and looking down at the ground, away from the bag.

And then she vomited.

---

Here I am again.

Well, maybe again might not be the best word because that kind of implies I've been here recently, which I haven't but I distinctly remember being in this position at least once before in my life.

I'm dreaming. I know I'm dreaming. I came back to the hotel room after finding someone's cruel little surprise in my bag, completely worn out, body sorer than it ever has been before and the second I fell into bed, I was out. I didn't even change out of my clothes or anything, and now I'm here. Though, the question remains, where exactly is here?

I see nothing around me. Pitch black. I'm not awake because I know my eyes are open and yet I see nothing. If I were really awake I'd be staring up at the ceiling, catching a bit of the light's reflection in the corner of my eye because I don't think I shut it off before collapsing.

Is this some kind of purgatory? I'm dreaming and I know I'm dreaming, so in response my brain decides it's not going to conjure up anything for this dream? On some level, I guess this is most dreaming I could ever experience because in reality, this is what I'm actually seeing when I'm asleep. The back of my eyelids without any light.

It's serene. It's peaceful. I know that as long as I stay like this, I won't be having nightmares, my mental image of Mark won't find a new way of torturing me.

It's terrifying. Unnerving. I know that I don't know if it will stay like this all night. At any second, I could be thrown into whatever twisted dreamscape my subconscious has conjured up for me this time and I'll have to face him again. Sure, I know I'm dreaming now, but will I when that happens? I want to say yes, but how would I even know? Will I even remember this? I don't remember all the fragments of all my dreams anyway. I always seem to forget a lot of it as soon as I wake up.

Have I done this every night? Is this part of my sleeping ritual?

The darkness is my worst enemy. The silence its accomplice. Both scheming to drive me irreparably insane. Though, I guess according to some people it won't take much to get me there, if I'm not there already.

My thoughts drift back to the feces filled condom that found its way into my bag and the question I've been pondering since finding it pops back into my head. Why? And also who, but the motives are more important to me at this moment rather than the culprit's identity. It's just so, frustrating. Why would anyone even think to do that to someone, let alone someone they've probably never even met? I'm guessing it's just hazing. Some sick little initiation ritual to weed out those who can't take the abuse. But God, if that doesn't make me... mad?

Am I mad? Is this what being mad feels like? All tense and frustrated, like the slightest thing could set you off into an uncontrollable rage? If so, I never want to feel mad ever again. I don't know how people who are constantly angry could live with that much, negativity flowing around them at all times. It isn't healthy. My heartbeat begins to slow, which is funny because I don't remember it ever speeding up until now, until I finally feel calm and at peace again. Though even that makes me wary because it's normally when I feel the most calm, like nothing can hurt me, when the worst tends to happen.

"Oh, Iris!"

Speak of the Devil.