It takes a special something (arrogance?) to do Chapter 6 about 18 months after Chapter 5 of a story and expect people to be still interested. And yet, one of the most common comments and emails I get is, "Where the fuck is Chapter 6?"
So here it is. With a few warnings:
1. This is nonsensical if you haven't read the first five chapters. The good news is that people liked them and it has a decent rating.
2. Some of the content of this story is deeply unpleasant. Although I have submitted this in the Scifi/fantasy category, there are strong non-consensual elements. Please be aware of that.
3. Do
Not
ask me where Chapter 7 is. I have no timeline for you.
4. It ends on a brutal cliffhanger. Sorry?
If you're still determined to read this after all that, I hope you enjoy it. I struggled a lot getting this into shape. But I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out.
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Elsewhere
There was whiteness that didn't seem to end. There was nothing, and it was peaceful--finally peaceful. But then she (She? Yes, she felt right) became heavier. It felt as if she was forming out of the emptiness. She still couldn't see her body or anything but the white space, but her thoughts became more coherent. So she tried speaking to see what would happen.
"Where am I?"
"Ah, there you are," said a female voice. "You're someplace safe. It's ok."
"Safe? Was I in danger? I can't remember. And why can't I see anything? Everything is all white. Who are you?"
"That's a lot of questions," the voice said, with something that sounded like kindness. For some reason, kindness felt very foreign to her. "You've been through trauma. I am, well, let's call me a doctor who is here to help you."
"You don't feel like a doctor."
"Well, that's an excellent observation. I'm a very specialized medical professional. That's a better description. The white is ok for now. You're going to start seeing more soon. Now, can you tell me the last thing you remember?"
Everything in her brain was foggy and indistinct, and she preferred it that way. She feared what she might see when the fog lifted, but thinking about how she didn't want it to lift meant that images formed around her. It was a bar. It was simultaneously dark and garishly neon bright, and there was a haze in the air from cigarette smoke.
Then people came into focus. Most of the people were men. They were mostly....Asian? There were also some white men. Then there were the women. There was a mix of Asian and European women. But they all had one thing in common. They all dressed slutty. Micro mini-skirts. Tops that showed off the maximum of cleavage. High heels and too much make-up.
What was she doing here? Why was this her last memory?
Then she caught her reflection in the mirror.
"Oh God..."
She knew she was looking at herself but couldn't process how she could look like that. She was carrying a tray of beer. Her hair was a messy mix of peroxide blonde with pink streaks. There was too much make-up; she was trying and failing to hide how strung out she looked. But everything was very pink. Her eyeliner and lipstick were pink. She wore a fishnet bodysuit with a matching pink halter top and a micro miniskirt. She looked malnourished. Except for her tits and they were unnaturally large.
And she was, of course, wearing pink heels.
She looked awful. It was beyond cheap trash.
"No, no, no....this can't be me," she said, but only as a voice in her head. The woman in the mirror looked dazed and seemed to realize she needed to deliver the beer. She tottered towards a table of businessmen. Somehow, she knew they were speaking Japanese. She knew everyone was making fun of her, but she no longer cared. She could feel the flat numbness creeping from the woman into her. Horrifying, she found she welcomed it.
"Ok, we need to step back a moment," said the voice.
Suddenly, she found herself sitting at a table at another part of the bar. She could look across the room and see herself delivering the beer. A man slid his hand up her thigh and groped her. She didn't react.
"Erin, you need to look at me now, please."
She turned, and sitting at the table was a woman with a dark complexion who looked like she was in her late 20s. She looked native and had beads in her hair. She was wearing a leather jacket. But the most distinctive thing was her eyes. They were supernaturally large and dark. But she immediately felt calmer looking at them.
Then she realized what the woman had said. Erin. Her name was Erin.
"No one has called me Erin in a long time," she said, sniffling. "I miss my name."
The woman reached across the table and took her hand. "I know, sweetie."