Serayah Cressors.
I wake with a gasp.
My head is heavy—so heavy that even lifting my hand feels impossible. At first, I almost give in to the weight pressing me down but I fight against it. I force my fingers to move. I force my arms to rise.
It has been three days. No—four, today. I have been asleep.
My memories are like hallucinations—they are slipping my mind like sand through my fingers. I remember glimpses of the morning light, the sensation of my mother feeding me, the distant awareness of using the bathroom, bathing, and then—sleeping again. I have been slow, dazed. That drug against my nose has kept me under and all my body wanted was rest.
But today, I feel different.
Stronger.
My limbs are still sluggish but I have willpower. I know—I believe—that if I try, I can move.
W
