Stumbling away from the gate, she freed the Diet Coke from her pocket and twisted off the lid. The hiss/fizz of escaping carbon dioxide was Iggy Azale... to her ears. Lifting the rim to her lips, she couldn’t drink the soda; her nausea was too great. Cold and disgusted, she capped the bottle and staggered to the nearby patio table, yanked out the closest chair and collapsed onto the seat. Her nausea grew worse every time she jumped back to 2014, and lasted longer too. Jet-lag from Hell, she. He looks at me in pain and desperation.“Helen... donne-moi ta petite culotte,” and then in English. “Helen... give me your panties.”“What?” Oh my god, you must be joking. He wants my underwear.He takes my hand and places it on his swollen penis. This is more than I am comfortable with.Easy girl… easy, I tell myself. It is a little late for me to be going into shock. I cannot possibly be this stupid and naïve as events have already gone too far between us for him to be satisfied using a Kleenex. More

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