Unconditionally- The Beginning Of Revelation

9. Jackets & Skirts

NOTE: PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER

This chapter is unedited so please excuse the grammatical errors.

Dedicated to Sienarocks2222  for being one of the first people on wattpad who told me they liked my writing. It meant the world to me!

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Suzzanah's POV

I was a feeler

I admit, the term itself was very vague, arousing multiple interpretations, some of which could be very ghastly and inappropriate, but I liked the vast range of understandings the term could have.

And for better or worse, I was a feeler in all respects, except the perverted ones.

And why was that important?

Because only if one understood what it meant to be a feeler could one truly understand how it is I functioned.

And what did being a feeler mean for me?

For starters, it meant that if I disliked how a cloth felt against my skin, I would not be very happy buying it.

That's why shopping for clothes often made me gloomy.

Because everything that felt good was too expensive and being a person of very limited economical means, I invariably had to settle for things I seldom liked.

When I was a baby I used to give my sister a hard time when it came to clothing. She would put them on me, I would take them off. Then she would pick up my discarded clothes and chase me all over the place trying to get me to wear them while I insisted on frolicking around in my favorite yellow bunny printed underwear doing baby booty shakes and rug rolls.

BLUSH

Over the years my urges to prance around au naturel did mellow, thank the heavens, and I settled for being content with cheap but soft materials.

So one can understand how uncomfortable I felt when I woke up wrapped in some rough stiff cloth which felt akin to sandpaper against my skin.

I wriggled around trying to get out of the scratchy material but it was over me, under me and all around me, impossible to get out of by wiggling alone. Not to mention that movement came to me with some degree of difficulty and a discomfort closely resembling pain.

Annoyed, I pried my tired eyes open but immediately regretted it when bright light pierced them like javelins digging into the ground making my eyes sting.

Why was it that a sleeping or unconscious person was always forced to wake up to the brightest of lights as if the Gods themselves were paying them a visit?

I groaned and clamped my eyes shut again, but much to my horror, even the inside of my eyelids looked bright now!

I tried to block out the blinding whiteness by burying my face in the pillow under my head only to shoot away from it as the powerful smell of spirit, antiseptic and detergent assaulted my nostrils and choked my lungs.

I coughed and scrunched up my face for a bit before my I let my facial muscles lax in shock as my situation dawned on me in the form of a question.

Where was I???

Over the years I had had the experience of waking up in many different rooms- some of which I chose, some of which I didn't; some which I liked, some, I didn't; some which smelt good, others, not so much. This particular one obviously fell in all of the latter categories. And it bothered me, very much.