She leaned back against the headboard of the old motel bed, taking a long pull off the vodka bottle. They'd drank most of it the previous night, but she figured there was enough left to kill her hangover.
She was right. Shortly after she finished the bottle, a light buzz dulled the throbbing in her head and quelled the nausea in her stomach. She wasn't quite ready to get up and have a shower, so she lay in bed for a while, gazing at the folds made by the sheet that half-covered her naked body. She ran her finger down her neck, her touch feather-light upon her skin. She idly fondled her nipples while weighing the idea of masturbating before getting out of bed. She opted against it, and went for a shower.
As she stood there, letting the stream of hot water wash away the previous night, she wondered how long she was going to keep doing this. She was attractive, funny, intelligent... how long was she going to waste herself on guys she met at closing time in random dive bars? How many more nights of clumsy drunken sex in cheap motels would she have to endure?
She washed herself with the slow heavy movements of someone trapped between hungover and drunk while her foggy brain pondered the question. There wasn't much to ponder, really. She knew the answer now, just as she'd known it when she started: she'd do this until she found him. Until she found the oaf who would become her love, the bastard who would become her husband, the frog who would become her prince. Her friends thought she was crazy, that she should look for someone who deserved her, rather than spend her nights trolling for scum in wretched little holes-in-the-wall in the seediest parts of town.
But she knew better. Her prince was trapped. Trapped in the form of a cretin, just waiting for her to make him a gentleman. She knew she would find him, the old gypsy woman had told her so. She would find her soulmate among the lowest of men, and he would become the greatest of them through the magic of her love.
But she'd fucked most of the assholes in this town, and not one of them had even stayed the night, let alone woken up the man of her dreams. She was beginning to lose hope, and the supply of jerks was growing smaller each day. If she didn't find him soon, there wouldn't be any more frogs left to sleep with.
She only had the one dose of antidote, after all.