Amy awoke with a start, her heart racing and her stomach churning. She'd had one too many beers at the party last night and was paying for it now. As she sat up in bed, she winced at the sudden pain shooting through her head. Groaning, she rubbed at her temples, trying to ease the throbbing.
With great effort, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, swaying slightly. She glanced down at her stomach and let out a gasp. It was enormously distended, stretching her already-tight tank top to the limit. She'd never been so bloated in her life.
Panic set in as she remembered the taste of vomit in her mouth from the night before. Her stomach churned again, and she clutched her midsection, desperately trying to calm herself down. She knew she had to get to the bathroom, and fast.
With unsteady steps, she made her way towards the bathroom, her mind racing with thoughts of what she was about to do. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Never had she imagined having such a messy morning. Her mind was spinning, her heart pounding.
Finally, she reached the bathroom door and burst through it, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. She barely made it to the toilet before everything came rushing out of her. Her diarrhea flowed in great, hot, liquid waves, splashing against the sides of the toilet bowl.
The smell was overwhelming, filling the small space with its putrid odor. Amy tried her best to hold her breath, but it was no use. She gagged and retched, feeling as though she were going to throw up again. The pain in her stomach was intense, but she forced herself to bear it.
Minutes seemed like hours as wave after wave of diarrhea spurted from her ravaged body. She felt utterly humiliated, ashamed of her own weakness. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to clean herself up, wiping frantically at her stomach with toilet paper.
Finally, the worst of it was over. Amy sat on the edge of the toilet, panting heavily, her head throbbing. She looked down at the mess she'd made, feeling sick to her stomach all over again. The once-clean bowl was now filled with remnants of her vomit, mixed in with the diarrhea.
With trembling hands, she flushed the toilet, hoping to wash away the evidence of her humiliation. She stumbled out of the bathroom, her face pale and drawn, her eyes haunted. This was not the way she'd imagined waking up ever again.
Amydirty, as she'd come to call herself that day, went back to bed, curled up in a ball, and cried. She didn't know what was wrong with her or how to fix it. All she knew was that she felt dirty, both inside and out, and that it would take a long time for her to feel clean again.
