This week's Wicked Wednesday prompt was "Elaborate" and as several of you had been kind enough to ask to learn more about Isobel's predicament I felt that "elaborating" on her back story was too good an opportunity to pass up. There isn't a lot of sex in this or the second half to which there is a link at the end but I am working on parts of the story that begin to explain her memory loss and there will be rather a lot in those I suspect!
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 33
Part 1 - Isobel's story began one morning as the sun shone.
There was a gap between the curtains and through it the morning sun sent a bright beam that crossed the white bed linen and touched the sleeping woman's face. The warmth woke her and as she opened her eyes and took in the room she thought it was a delightful way to start that or any other day.
Realising that the room was unfamiliar she tried to recall where she was - the room didn't have the anonymous decor of a hotel so perhaps a guest house? Hoping to prompt herself she thought about her plans were for the day but could bring nothing to mind.
It was only then that it occurred to her that not only did she not know where she was but neither did she know who she was. She dismissed the thought as absurd and tried to relax. While she did so her legs moved involuntarily around the bed as if expecting to find someone or something on it but found nothing.
As the beam of sunshine slowly moved away she knew with growing certainty that she had no memory of who she was or of anything she had ever done before waking up a few minutes ago. She felt cold and more than a little frightened but forced herself to move the duvet and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Despite her fear she nevertheless felt certain that she was a strong and resourceful person but could not, of course, offer herself any evidence of this.
She now noticed that on the dressing table by the window there was a cream envelope of the sort used for personal correspondence before email became ubiquitous. She reached for the envelope and saw it had a name written by hand in a flowing script, by a fountain pen too she noted approvingly. The name was Isobel J......
We have endeavoured to fulfil your wishes and you will find a file downstairs containing the necessary documents. We wish you well in your new life.
So she had a name. A name she tried saying out loud which was when she realised, she had the sort of accent that suggested origins in the counties surrounding London. It was pleasant if unremarkable. Having a name didn't take the fear away completely but she was surprised how much better it made her feel.
She was naked and she stood and looked at herself in the full length mirror. Close cropped blonde hair, a round face with blue eyes and full lips. Breasts that would require a good sports bra when running - where did that thought come from, she wondered even as her body started doing stretches in anticipation of exercise.
She ran her hands around her body and it felt quite natural to pause and slowly probe between the lips of her vagina. For a moment she considered returning to the bed and continuing the exploration but as she looked in the mirror, she noticed what seemed to be scar tissue just above her right hip.
A few moments later she had to force herself to breath slowly as she fought the bile rising in her throat. Her back was a network of scars that suggested the flesh had been broken and left to heal by itself. They did not cause pain but she could feel the tightness of them when she moved in certain ways. They would fade in colour given time but the raised welts would be permanent. She tried and failed to think of a way that the wounds could have been self inflicted - this was something that another human being had done to her.
Find the second part of the start of Isobel's story here