When I woke up, my entire body was full of tingles, as if every muscle were waking up after a very long sleep.  The ends of my fingers stung with that “slept on your hand” feeling and so did my toes.  Just imagine that feeling, but all over your body and that is like I felt at the time.  It’s certainly not something I hope you ever experience, my dear reader.  Not for the same reasons, anyways.  N

It took a long time for me to regain my awareness of where I was.  At first, I thought I was waking up in my own bed, so out-of-it that I forgot about my predicament of being shrunken down by an obsessive colleague and kidnapped into her home.  My vision was blurry and as I looked upward, I fully expected to see my ceiling fan slowly blowing onto me with Rebecca right next to me.  If only I had woken up to that.  If only this whole ordeal had just been a nightmare.  Things would be far different than they are now. 

I did not wake up to my own ceiling.  I woke up to the only thing I possibly could wake up to.  Her, looking down at me.  Though raining down was more like it.  The more my eyes were able to focus, the more my hearing could hear the loud pitter-patter of droplets of water falling down around me.  Your first thought might be that it was raining.  But it wasn’t.  As my focus came in, I realized that those droplets were tears, raining down from the enormous face above me. 

After I truly came back into focus, I saw that Hiroshi’s face was red and had countless drenched tear streaks down her cheeks.   Some were fresh while others looked like they were almost completely dried out.  That sort of look on someone’s face really hits you, especially when said face is multiple times larger than you’re used to seeing.  I won’t lie to you, reader.  Seeing her face like that brought tears to my own face.  The level of sadness that was written right on her face was depressing and I felt really sad about it. 

She didn’t say a word during these moments.  She had clearly been sobbing.  Looking around me, I realized I was laying under a small cloth on her dresser and there were huge puddles of tears all around me.  Something had happened that had hit her hard, and at that moment, I had yet to remember the trauma that had caused it.  Had fate been kind to me, it could’ve left my time as an unaware sex toy as a repressed memory.  But we all know fate is not kind like that.  Fate is a cruel, cruel mistress. 

I didn’t remember right away, of course.  Right away, I was just confused as to what could have hit this woman so hard that she was literally bawling her eyes away.  The woman that had no problems kidnapping me against my will and shrinking me smaller just so I couldn’t leave her.  How could a woman so cruel and psychotic be hit so hard by something like this?  Surely if I’d done something bad, she would’ve just gotten angry and punished me, right?  It didn’t make any sense to my little brain. 

As the waterworks from her eyes finished up, she reached down, gently wrapping the cloth around my body and pulling me up into her face.  Every motion was incredibly gentle and she began rubbing her fingers on my back, letting out a smile and whispering a simple phrase:

“I’m so happy you’re okay”

At this point, you have to wonder what was going through my head.  She had been gentle with me at times, clearly in a “I’m trying to make you trust me” manner, but this was different.  The level of care and gentleness she was giving me.  Even the tone of her voice.  It all felt and sounded sincere.  I believed that right then, she wasn’t just being an obsessive crazy woman, but was truly concerned about my well-being and was sincerely happy that I was alright.  

The whole situation confused me.  But, I decided to go off of what she was doing.  I leaned into her damp cheek and neck and hugged against her.  What else was I supposed to do?  She sounded sincere and, despite the circumstances, I had to also gain her trust if I were ever to get out of this mess.  Then again, I feel like at the time, I was just doing what felt natural.  I was still groggy, after all, and when someone shows sincere concern for your well-being, you can’t just ignore it. 

You might be thinking that this situation was starting to work in my favor.  She shows her sincere concern for my life, and I could get out of this situation.  Explain the dangers of what had happened.  Take advantage of her guilt and get her to restore my height and let me go.  Sounds like a great plan, right?  After all, the human conscience can be a very powerful thing.  That might’ve worked, too, if fate hadn’t intervened. 

She eventually set me back down on the dresser and brought her head down to my level.  She was blinking and wiping her eyelids a lot, clearly trying to keep herself from crying even more.  I just stood there, dumbfounded and waiting for her to do whatever she was planning to do or say.  Waiting was all I could do.  Wait until she could fight the tears enough to talk more.  And when she finally did talk, she said something that I wished she had never said.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  After what happened in the tub, I thought…I thought I was going to lose you!”

Simple words are powerful things.  A simple word or phrase can spark even the most hidden memories.  As soon as she had said “in the tub”, fate dived into my head and flipped a switch that didn’t want to be flipped.  Because, in that moment, every second of being shoved into her vaginal lips in the tub came rushing back to me, all at once.  And with it, came all of the trauma that comes with being used as a sex toy. 

My eyes got cloudy and it all started with my fingers.  My index fingers twitched and then the rest.  Then my legs started to quiver and shake.  Then my arms.  And then my the rapid breathing.  Rapid and getting faster, without end.  And my heartbeat went with it, beating faster than it ever should.  My entire body began to freak out, the surge of memory sparking a panic attack.  In the panic of this attack, I started backing away from her.  Because knowing what she did to me, she was beyond a psychotic obsessive lady.  She was a monster. 

That moment is what prevented the guilt plan from working.  Because not only did I fall into a panic attack, but I screamed out of fear and dashed back, hiding behind a jewelry box.  Back there, I curled up into a ball and began to rock back and forth, letting everything my body was getting out, well, out.  That was Step 1 of what screwed me over. 

Step 2 was when she moved the jewelry box and tried to reach for me.  And that’s when my filter completely disappeared, like it always used to when I had anxiety attacks.  There was no filter to hold myself back.  Hold words back.  Only what I felt came out, all at once in a scream as soon as her hand came close. 

“Get your hands away from me, you crazy bitch!”