Light hits my eyelids first. Then cold air grazes my cheeks.
The next thing I feel is pain. A sharp sting that snaps my heavy eyes open.
Everything comes into focus, and I inhale sharply.
I am in my bedroom? The soft pink curtains. The white dresser. The photo frames on the table. Not the cold walls of the reflection cell. Not the smell of damp stone and rot.
My pillow is damp and so are my clothes sticking to my body.
Then my head begins to throb. My heartbeat is too loud. And my body feels like I was hit by a truck and then dragged under it for a few miles.
My throat burns. My hands sting. My legs ache. Everything hurts.
I sit anyway; that's when I see them.
Mom. Dad. Melinda.
Melinda sits in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, looking pale and pitiful like someone who just walked
