Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner blurred at the edges. Her head swam, each beat of her pulse a drum against her skull. She slumped onto a vinyl booth, the sticky surface clinging to her hands. It was the smell that brought it back: the cloying sweetness of spilled coffee and stale cigarettes. She fumbled in her pocket, fingers brushing against something stiff and unfamiliar. A wallet. Thick, bulging, and not hers.

She pulled it out, blinking at the harsh fluorescent light. Inside, beneath a driver’s license she didn't recognize, was a wad of bills. Hundreds. She ran a shaky hand through her hair. Where was she? How had she gotten here? The waitress, a woman with tired eyes and a name tag that read “Betty,” shuffled over, wiping down the counter with a greasy cloth. "Find something, honey?"

"I... I don't know," she mumbled, staring at the money. The room tilted. Her stomach churned.