’ She went of to gather small bags and brushes, bottles and tubes. Rea snorted at the old joke and watched Franca rush around the room which looked like it was run over by three natural disasters. Suitcases were open on the beds, the floor, clothes were thrown messily all over in what seemed to be a very complex filing system. Stan sat on the bed with curlers in her hair wearing an amused and slightly frightened expression, apparently Franca already got to her. ‘Come, my pretty, have a seat and I will commence the transformation!’ Rea sat in the chair in front of her friend who immediately attacked Rea’s hair with gels and sprays. The three of them chatted while Franca busied herself with her masterpiece. They haven’t had a long girly talk in a while. Even though they went to the same university, they only met once a week at best, during which time they talked about upcoming tests, group projects, insomnia and other school related things. It felt good to be able to talk about silly. They held her up and, not ungently, lowered her to the hardwood floor. Sitting on one of the chairs I watched them, my mind wandering to the Pieta statue in the Vatican. Brett left the room while Olga massaged Lynette's wrists to restore circulation and sensation in her hands."Help her," I told Jane.They laid her down on the floor, on her belly. Her back and thighs, shredded by the cat, looked like hamburger in stark contrast to her, white and untouched, voluptuous white ass. Jane lightly touched her upper back with the tip of her finger; even that lightest touch elicited a moan of pain from the prostrate girl. Brett returned pushing a small cot on wheels. It resembled a stretcher, of the kind you might find in a public clinic, in one of our inner cities. Its surface was lightly padded and it had, as its only modification, at the head and foot, leather wrist and ankle restraints. Between Brett, Olga and Jane, they lifted the inert and barely conscious girl on to the cot. Brett pulled.
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