Changing Perspective

For fun, we were asked to write a story from the perspective of random objects. Each person was assigned a subject. Mine was toilet paper...

I was jammed between my friends, enjoying a quiet moment of rest, squished yet cozy in the dark, going along for a car ride. When the car stops and the trunk opens, it's still dark and quiet. Music has been turned down and there's a quiet rustling. My friend leaves and I'm just sitting there waiting. Then I am lifted, and I'm starting to be unwound just as I anticipated.

But , I feel myself rushing up. I've been let go. My layers unraveling faster than they should, and I feel poked and tangled, trapped on dewy twigs. I'm only half left.

Again, only higher, I am hurled, tying into branches among the remains of my once composed and neat friends. I am spread out more than I was intended to be. I am on display and embarrassed for instead of being discreet, I am spread wide and being shown.
The sun peaks over the horizon, and I know what is about to happen. I know that I am about to be discovered. Should I just go with it and reflect the light? Or should I droop and hide among the branches?