225. Cleft in Twain
“Whenever my sister or I took too long in the bathroom, Mom would always bust in and force us out,” Amy thinks to herself, “It taught us to mind our bathroom time, which served me well in later life, even if I didn't appreciate it at the time. Besides, I can't very well have a conversation through a bathroom door!” Amy decides to try to force her way into the bathroom. She turns the door knob. Locked, naturally. She jiggles it a bit, hopeful that the lock may be cheap and the door will open on its own. No such luck.
“Well,” Amy thinks to herself, “Maybe it'll break open with a little force.” Amy rears back and pushes her shoulder into the door. THUMP! And again. THUMP! The second time it moves a bit more. Maybe it'll give in with another push! THUMP! Definitely felt it move this time, just one more-
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”
As Amy shifts backward for one last push the door flies open. In the doorway, legs spread apart, heaving with unconcealed rage, is a scrawny young lady in goth attire. She's wearing a black miniskirt, black halter top, knee-high black leather boots with a dozen buckles each, and fishnet gloves. Her eyebrows, lips, nose, cheeks, and who knows what else are all pierced in multiple places. She wears black lipstick and has hair the color of shoe polish (which Amy immediately places as a rather unskilled dye job). Her skin is ghostly white from head to toe. Her eyes seethe with rage, and right now they're staring straight at Amy.
“Oh, um, ah, I'm Amy Shaw, I'm actually looking for a friend of mine and was hoping you could help.” Amy's a bit taken aback by this woman's hostile demeanor and stumbles to find some way to show that she's not just some stranger barging into this woman's bathroom, even though that's exactly what she is, “Uh.. What's-his-name, the butler... Boswell! He said...”
“Fucking Boswell sent you! God, I am so fucking sick of him being my dad's little stool pigeon! I can't wait to get out of this fucking house!”
“Hmmm,” thinks Amy, “Maybe Boswell wasn't the best person to mention to Stacy...”
“As for YOU! Why's a geek like you doing Boswell's job for him?” Stacy takes a step out of the bathroom and reaches toward Amy. Amy decides that discretion is the better part of valor in this instance and that maybe she should get out of here. She turns tail and begins to flee toward the front entrance of the house.
“You get back here!” Stacy grabs at Amy and hooks her right hand into the wait of Amy's jeans. Amy finds her forward movement arrested. She looks backward to find that Stacy is holding her back by a swath of heart-print cloth.
“Oh my God, heart-print undies? You are such a dork! Well, let's make sure Boswell knows what a lame-wad he has for a lackey!”
Stacy pulls hard on Amy's underpants, quickly stretching them above Amy's head. Amy feels an intense pain in the crack of her butt as she flashes back to all the humiliations she faced as a bookish young girl in high school. How the older girls had tormented her for her love of learning!
The band of Amy's underwear keeps moving higher as the hearts that adorn her panties grow more and more distorted. Amy grimaces as the pain in her rear grows in intensity. Then the agony reaches a new level as the pain moves... upward? Soon Amy can't feel her legs as the pain spreads to her lower back, her upper back, her neck, and then her head. Amy then has the rather unique experience of seeing both sides of herself fall away in two directions, as the strength of the wedgie she is receiving splits her entire body in two. The two halves of Amy's bifurcated body fall away from each other.
“Oops!” smirks Stacy, “Well, I guess I can still bring the two halves of this bitch up to Boswell to send him a message... But I've still gotta get ready. I'm sure he'll find her.” She returns to the powder room, slamming the door behind her.
As Amy's two halves drift into the unconsciousness that precedes death, she reflects on all the torments of high school. She had thought that her days of receiving wedgies were over. Little did she realize that a wedgie would be the death of her!
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure or her life.