Amarrah buried herself under the covers. How did I get here? Why am I here? She did not want to pray because she felt as if God allowed this to happen to her. He was being very cruel to have done so. If she were a drinking woman, she would get so drunk that she would forget her life, let alone her name. She never liked alcohol. Dang, it sure would help numb the sense right now. Amarrah mind would not stop replaying last night’s debacle. She needed to talk to someone about it but was too ashamed to call anybody. Siren would definitely have an “I told you so” waiting on deck. You never knew what side of the bed Kristina would wake up on; calling her was a crap-shot. Amarrah knew one thing that would not talk back or judge her. She sat up and reached in the second drawer of the nightstand to pull out her journal. Since, the replay button was still on in her head; she might as well write it all down. It took Amarrah an hour to get everything out. Between being disgusted with herself and angry at Devon, she went through a gamut of emotions. She did not know how she felt when she was done writing.