Damage Control - Part 2

I stood in the pod for quite some time attempting to make heads or tails of my situation.

It was becoming apparent that I could indeed move, but somehow, I simply didn't want to. The want to even check seemed so far away, that it just wasn't worth the trouble to try and get there. The more I tried, the more it seemed it really did not matter so much.

Part of the trouble, I believe, is that I felt good. Wonderfully so. My body was not strained, and felt relaxed into the position it was in. I couldn't concentrate on much of anything but the waves of pleasure coursing through my mind. It was an exercise to concentrate on anything but. Had I not been interrupted, I would have been content to stay there for some time.

I am not sure how long it was before the pod clicked, and slid open. It's gaseous contents spilled forth, crawling across the floor like an entity. Something deep inside me was screaming out to pay attention to it. It's coiling tendrils fading long before providing enlightenment.

The cold air of the warehouse trailed across my exposed body,  shocking me into peering about. I stood there for some time, slowly taking in my surroundings, arms falling woodenly to my sides.

Something was wrong.

I did not want to go anywhere. Do anything. I was having trouble even formulating what I should do next, let alone how I felt about it. If my stomach did not wake up as it had, I probably would have stood there for some time.

Heading home, I could think of nothing but eating and going to bed. Even thoughts of my release or even why I was released, seemed to flit further away than I could grasp.

When I did finally manage to throw it together, food just felt like a chore. Lifting my fork seemed like an exercise in futility. I was starving, but just didn't want to eat. Every part of me seemed at odds and simply wanted to shut down. Half finished, I shuffled over to the foot of the bed and slumped across it, not rousing until morning.

When I awoke the following day, my body remained in the same position it had when I fell asleep, one of my shoes still dangling, half attached.  I was relaxed, but decidedly empty. Things did become a bit better as the morning progressed. My mood lightened, but I could not shake this overwhelming feeling of disassociation. 

My coffee was bland. The radio seemed far away at any volume, and my interest in anything seemed to wane before it started. No matter what I did to distract myself, I could not take my mind off of the events of the day previous.

Half way through fixing my hair and touching up my make-up, I realized I had not bothered to get dressed all morning. I was absently humming to myself and my mood was becoming elevated. Only when done did I bother to consider what the preparations were even for.

I was going back.

I am not even sure when it was decided, but there I was, sliding into my favorite slingbacks and heading straight back into the very place that started all of this. All I could think about was being back in that pod... back in that place. I scribbled a note to Mistress and departed.

Continued in Pt3.