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From: Dryad <gbbjg@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Wedding Dress chapter 3 by Dryad (No Sex, curse)
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Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2006 20:10:04 -0400
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Disclaimer: I write. You chose to read. Please make those choices
wisely, and follow the laws of the area in which you live. As always,
interested in hearing comments. 

The Wedding Dress: Christine Chapter 3

Christine looked around, dazed in the semi gloom of the back room.
Where was she? How in goodness's name did she get here? She took a
shaky breath, and inhaled an odd, pungent smell, over the scent of
stale beer and wood shavings.

She pushed herself up on her elbows and saw she was lying on the green
felt of a pool table. She groaned as she pushed herself upright, before
emitting a small shriek Her delicate hand flew to her face and covered
her mouth.

She was completely nude.  She looked quickly around for her clothing in
the murkily lit room. She teetered off the edge of the table, feeling
incredibly sore. Slowly, snatches of memory exploded before her eyes.

"Oh, God, No!" she cried loudly, her body shuddering as she fell to the
sawdust covered floor in sobs, uncaring of the filth.  Kevin could
never love her now. He said as much when he left her. She was nothing
but a dirty, filthy whore. She did...she did THAT with his best friends.
Hell, at least whores did it for money! What made her snap like that?
That wasn't who she was. Even Kevin said as much.  A brief spark of
hope flew into her heart; Kevin knew that wasn't her. Her countenance
fell again; he might ignore the behavior, the attitude...but he could
never forgive the action. 

God, Pastor Riecht...no more teaching Sunday school...Her parents would be
so ashamed! Not only had she ruined her life, but she had ruined
Kevin's...no fiancée, no friends he would be likely to trust after
that...

Trembling, she found the small bits of cloth that had earlier passed
for her clothing. No, she'd admit it; she was a coward.  She couldn't
face this, couldn't accept it.  She would run away; run to a place
where no one knew her, no one knew what sort of person she really was.
Already she could feel the incessant yearning beginning to build up in
her system, and the strange feminine voice that seemed to take over,
chuckling maliciously in the back of her mind. It was that moment she
realized she would not be able to control these attacks; truly, as she
wasn't even aware during the attack, she sadly realized she was losing
her mind...and it wouldn't be too long before her real self was killed by
this malignant slut taking her over.

She ran to her car, desperately trying to ignore the catcalls and wolf
whistles as she passed through the main bar. She sniffed, wiping her
eyes clear of tears in order to see well enough to drive home. She
choked back a sob when her ears caught the lyrics to the latest Tina
Turner song come over the radio. "I'm your private dancer, a dancer for
money..." even with her innocent background, she knew what it was about,
and recognized it wasn't too long before it was to become her future.

Thankfully, the house was dark when she pulled into the long driveway.
She quietly snuck up to her room, pulling off the filthy clothing that
barely clung to her body. Quickly and silently, she began to pack up
her belongings.

She sat at her desk, looking at her neatly labeled seating chart, and
stifled another sob.  Christine pulled a piece of paper to her, and
slowly wrote a letter, first to Kevin, then a second to her parents. 
Tears fell silently on her letter to Kevin, begging him to believe that
she didn't know what made her act like that, that she still loved him,
even though she knew that he couldn't possibly love someone who could
so totally destroy his trust. She told him that she needed to purge
this evil inside her, but she feared she would lose the battle. The
letter to her parents was easier, though still difficult.

She asked both not to try and find her.  She hoped that she would be
able to find out what had happened to her, but she doubted she could
face the town again. She imagined the men at the bar were already
setting their tongues to wagging like old women. 

Already she was feeling the overwhelming urge to pounce on unsuspecting
prey. She fought to tamp it down, to write from her own soul, but it
was becoming difficult. She ended the letters, hoping they would
forgive her someday.  She finished her packing, and caught sight of the
beautiful wedding gown. She felt drawn to it, so much so, she wondered
what it had over her. Whatever it was, it started with the dress. She
knew she had one stop to make before she began her trip west...she only
hoped the storekeeper knew more about the dress.

Best to take it with her.  It was certain to be worth a lot of money
where she was going. But then, Nevada had other ways for an industrious
girl to make some money...

*************

Kevin crumpled the letter in his good hand. His face had suddenly
gained a few extra lines. The last few days had been eventful. His two
ex-buddies were nursing broken ribs and noses, while he only had a
broken hand.

And his fiancée had run off.  Why? He loved her, damn it! Something was
wrong, that he was sure of. It wasn't like his Christine...none of it. 
If he were catholic, perhaps he would think she was possessed by some
evil spirit.  It killed him, because he still loved her. After breaking
said ex-buddies noses, he tried to find her. Even called the cops, but
they only said, once she was 18, if she wanted to run off to parts
unknown, she wasn't a missing person.

He ran to Kelly in desperation, asking if she knew anything.  Her brow
furrowed in concern. No, Christina didn't tell her anything, but you
know, the strangest thing...Kevin heard about the odd shopping trip, and
how drastically Chris's behavior suddenly changed.

Kevin asked her mourning parents about her wedding dress. All they
could say is that she must have taken it with her, because it wasn't
with them. 

It was a dead end.  
-----------------------
(c)Dryad gbbjg at yahoo dot com 2006

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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