I may have been asleep, a deep, sound slumber, but I did feel uncomfortable, quite uncomfortable as a matter of fact. My arms, which were stretched to my sides and tied above my head to the arched metal headboard, were beginning to ache. It was pretty dark in that room and I was so distraught over my confessions of deception and my confrontation with Bette, that I did not connect the dots very well.

I was still wearing the same clothes I had on when I unwittingly blurted out my acts of self-destruction, the same clothes I had on when K told me she knew what I had done.

Yes, I was restrained in a bed, so physically immobile that I couldnt even wipe my runny nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. But my arms were not tethered to the side of the bed as one would expect after being committed to some kind of mental institution.

No, my arms were above my head, tied in a way that reminds one of being held prisoner, of human bondage, of S & M bondage (AND ITS NOT EVEN SUNDAY FOR ***** BETTES SAKE !!) of Linda Blair in the Exorcist.

And I could not connect the dots because I was dazed by the bump on my head from the fall on the tile when K threw the bowl of fruit at me. I could not connect the dots because I was confused at the familiar yet dark surroundings not knowing how many hours, how many days I had been incarcerated. So I slept, a deep slumber.

But when K quickly opened and loudly banged the door against the wall behind it, when she forcefully and deliberately flipped the switch of the light which blinded my eyes, I was stirred awake and shaken into consciousness. And when I heard the music blaring behind her, that special music she plays so loudly when she is pissed, those unmistakable sounds of the Scabs belting out BIGG BUTTS AND BLOWJOBS, I knew right then that I needed to take the offensive and speak, no matter how dazed and confused I was.

She entered the room and stood at the end of the bed; I sat up, my back against the headboard. She looked as if she had been crying and for an instant I was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. In silence, we stared . . . we stared . . . we stared at each other without blinking, each with a distinctive look our faces. Hers: teeth clenched, eyes slightly squinting, that IM GOING TO ***** KILL YOU, YOU ***** MORON look. Mine: eyes wide open, mouth agape, that incredulous WHAT THE ***** WERE YOU THINKING look.