Her thoughts and emotions racing along a twisting, turning rollercoaster, she hurried off the bed and into the bathroom. Needing something to do once behind the closed door, her shaking hands fumbled to get toothpaste onto her brush. Then she stood there, just holding the instrument and staring at her reflection, wondering why she had ever given into the urges.

It was easy -- too easy -- to blame it on the amalgamation of events; the five months, her ruined plans, the wine, the storm. These things might have--. No, they had caused her body to be frustrated and in need of release. But that only explained her idea of...