It was a strange feeling. Almost as if she had borrowed someone else’s notebook, and turned to a new page to write her own story. Still, she somehow knew that the notebook she was writing in was her own, she just couldn’t place it. She couldn’t place a lot of things – the bed she was in for starters. The sheets were a dark gray color. The comforter was black, gray, silver, and white. Something similar to what she would have picked out for herself, but a different pattern. The sheets didn’t quite match, but some effort, no matter how small, had been made. She wasn’t sure of much, but she had a feeling that if she had been picking out these things they would have been a full match. The pillow cases, similar to the bed sheets were close, but off. Two of the four pillows were the same color as the sheet. The other two were light gray, better matched to the comforter.
There was something moving near the foot of the bed. It was shaking in a way that mimicked the vibrational patterns of when a man is beating his own meat. It began moving closer to her. Two ears popped up over the mound of blankets. They were the same shade of brown as gingerbread houses and men. The rest of the head followed suit, and before she knew it the head of a very sleepy, but happy bulldog appeared. The dog obviously knew her. That or the dog was accustomed to having strange women wake up in this bed. The endless trail of dog kisses mapping her face were an indicator that the dog most certainly knew and loved her. She checked for a collar or dog tag. Neither was to be found, only a blue bandanna covered in a white logo with the letters underneath it. The girl wondered if the dog was a service animal.
After minutes of endless kisses and snuggles the dog settled down next to her. She, the dog, was found of butt scratches. The woman studied the dog. Again she had that familiar feel, of something close to what she wanted, but not quite what she would have picked out. The rest of the dog was gingerbread brown and white. She was a bulldog that exemplified the inbreeding the bread was often subjected to, but was still the prettiest she-dog in the world. At least to her she was – then again, she still didn’t know where she was or – come to think of it – who she was. Maybe there were other dogs that could match this one’s beauty and personality, but she highly doubted it.
The woman looked around the room. The lights were off, and not much light was let into the room. There were two small windows, both with the blinds closed. Blinds, the woman noted, were something she would live with, but not have picked out for herself. The door was a gray blue, and shut. On the back were dozens of belts hung on hooks. There were also two hats and two coats. None of them looked as though they were made for a female. She was certain that even if they were they would be too large for her. Feeling her eyebrows raise, the woman closed her eyes and ran her hands over her body. Her breasts were large. She had some meat, but by no standards was she fat. She had no pubic hair, and her legs were recently shaved. Her knees were roughly the same smooth texture of the rest of her legs suggesting that she lotioned regularly. Or that she didn’t spend a lot of time on them. There was one bump that felt like a scar. Lifting the comforter up and drawing her knee closer, she was correct. There was a scar on the front of her knee. It looked old, something from her childhood perhaps. Sitting up in the bed, sure to pull the comforter tight around her, the woman reached up to her hair. Running her left hand down from the top, letting her fingers tangle into the bottom, she pulled it out away from her. She had very long hair. Hair that was dirty blonde and curly. She couldn’t tell if it was naturally that color, or processed. She was sure the curls were natural.
A chill ran through her body making her lay back down into the bed, snuggling against the bunches of comforter. The dog lay asleep next to her. A gentle snore adding white noise to the room. She was certain that this was not her home, and this was not her dog. She didn’t feel afraid, even though she felt that fear would have been a rational and logical emotion to feel. She shut her eyes tightly. Her jaw clenched. She certainly wouldn’t fall back asleep like that. She took a deep breath in while counting to five. She held it for another five. Lastly, she exhaled for five seconds. She did this twelve more times.
The sound of a door made Kizzy stir. Her eyes fluttered open as a weight was added to the bed. She rolled over to face the sound.
“Hi babygirl,” a gentle voice spoke as its owner’s arm reached out and stroked her hair.
“Hi,” Kizzy answered in a sleepy voice. A pillow obstructed the man’s face.
“You awake yet,” he continued the conversation.
“I think so,” she replied.
“Good. I brought you breakfast. It’s on the table. I didn’t want Bailey to attack you for it in bed.”
“Too many crumbs,” Kizzy said with a smile.
“Exactly,” he answered chuckling. “I’ll be out in the living room. See you in a few?”
“Yup,” Kizzy answered hopefully.
Kizzy, she thought, what a silly name. I like it though. I suppose that’s me.
Kizzy waited until she heard the door close softly behind the man. The dog had gone with him. Getting up her arm reached over toward the nightstand. The first thing she touched was a pair of glasses. She put them on. Kizzy looked back around the room. The accessories hanging behind the door were definitely not her’s, and most certainly belonged to a man. She got up out of bed and walked toward a door she hadn’t seen before without her glasses. It was the same color as the other door. The wall it sat on was the same color – an accent wall – making Kizzy feel better about not seeing it earlier. Opening the door Kizzy found a bathroom. She peed, washed her hands, rinsed her mouth out with water from the tap, avoided looking at herself, and went back into the bedroom. Hanging from the bedpost was a blueish gray shirt, brighter than the rest of room and clearly worn in. She pulled the shirt over her head. It was massive on her.
She opened the door to the room and made her way down the hallway toward the stairs. There were only a few. It seemed the house was some type of split level. She followed the sounds of television and a man talking to a dog he loved. She took a deep breath and she walked into the room. The man was larger than life. He was handsome, and he looked at her as if she was love in human form.
“Look, Bailey, look how pretty mommy is,” he said to the dog.
“Thank you, and thank you for breakfast. It smells great,” Kizzy said looking at the fresh breakfast sandwiches on the coffee table. A coffee table she definitely would have picked out herself. “I do have a question though,” Kizzy began.
“Don’t worry, your coffee is in the kitchen. I ran out of hands,” the man said with a chuckle.
“Thank you! It’s not that though,” Kizzy replied.
“Who am I, and who are you,” Kizzy asked in earnest.