Blood. There's so much blood. The acrid smell filling my nostrils, my tongue coated in the metallic taste of it. I don't know where it's coming from, or who it belongs to but I know there's too much of it. It's on the walls, the floors. It's all over me. It might be mine, I can't be sure. I'm not sure of anything right now. How did I get here? Where is here? What's going on, and why is there so much goddamn blood everywhere?
I stand on shaky legs, wobbling toward what I think is an exit. It might just be another dead end. All I know is there's light, warped and distorted as it might be, there's light and that's got to be a good sign. But the closer I get the more panicked I feel.
Nothing makes sense right now. My heart is beating itself bloody against the inside of my ribcage, my mind screaming that this is wrong. That this is bad, so bad, and I shouldn't be here. I should turn around, go back. I should wait for someone to find me. I should wait until someone comes to get me, and they can tell me what's happened and why nothing feels okay right now. Why it feels like nothing is ever going to be okay ever again.
I don't wait. I keep walking forward, my stomach drops to the ground between my feet on the way but I don't stop. I push forward on unsteady legs, my heartbeat echoing so loudly in my ears I'm sure it's going to cause permanent damage. My breaths burn on their way into my body and I think I might have been screaming before but I can't be sure.
A loud crash sends me barreling into consciousness. I gasp what feels like my first full breath in months and my eyes fly open. My first thought is that everything feels foreign, different. Wrong. I don't immediately recognize the room I'm in, or why exactly I feel like I should. There's another loud crash and this time I'm on my feet and following the sound before I can think better of it.
The hardwood floors are cold against the soles of my bare feet. I easily find my way to the kitchen of my apartment, because that's where I am. My apartment. The place I've lived for the past three years. Emma, my best friend is standing at the counter on the opposite side of the room attempting to make coffee. So, at least I know what all that noise was about.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asks, her voice soft and familiar. It instantly soothes my anxious mind. I don't respond. Instead I reach for the coffee maker and pour myself a cup. Blowing on the bitter liquid before I take a sip and sigh with what's probably far too much affection for a beverage.
Emma glances at me over her shoulder as I lean back against the kitchen island and watch her as she prepares something that looks like a sandwich.
"Did you have another nightmare?" the question causes my gut to twist with unease. I take another sip before I look up to find her studying me with a concern shinning in her eyes.
"Why would you think that?" I question, swallowing against the bile rising in my throat. She casts me a disbelieving look before shaking her head.
"You're drinking your coffee black, you only ever do that when you've had a bad dream and you're upset."
I glance down at the mug grasped between my pale hands. "Do you remember what it was about?" her tone is quiet and tentative. Moderate , the sort of voice you use on an easily frightened kitten.
I open my mouth to tell her about my dream and- I blink. Once, twice, and again. Nothing. I don't remember. Odd. I was sure that I'd had a bad dream. "No," that's all I say but she offers me a nod as if she understands perfectly and I think maybe she's familiar with this. It might be a regular occurrence. Or at least I think it's happened before. My memory isn't all that great after the accident.
I frown, feel my eyebrows furrow in confusion and stare at the back of Emma's chocolate brown ponytail as it sways between her shoulder blades. I'm still trying to puzzle out what exactly I dreamed of when Emma turns around and sets a plate with a sandwich on the counter-top next to my elbow.
She gives me a smile that turns her blue eyes to liquid, and says, " You've got a lunch date with Haider at 1. I've already called ahead and made you guys a reservation but I'll text you about twenty minutes before just to remind you."
This is somewhat of a norm. Emma helps me out with planning my days since I can't rely on myself to remember most things. On a good day, I might be able to keep my work meetings and deadlines straight. On a bad day, I wake up and don't even recognize my own bed. Clearly, today is a bad day. I thank her as she bustles around the kitchen packing away the ingredients she used. I don't touch the sandwich yet, still unsettled from the unremembered dream. Emma's wiping down the counter as she looks at me again. This time she takes on a sterner tone as she says; "Eat."
Obediently, I pick up the sandwich. "Sir, yes sir." I chant before taking a bite. She rolls her eyes and fights a smile.
"Listen," she says seriously, "I'm going to be in back-to-back meetings today. So, I won't be around to check in with you. Are you going to be okay?"
"You know I don't actually need a babysitter, right?" and now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "I'll be fine without you hovering for one day," I tell her, "besides Haider will make sure I stay out of trouble."
She doesn't look convinced. "Right." She gives a half-hearted nod.
"How's work been going?" it's a poorly-disguised attempt at changing the topic. She isn't fooled but she answers anyways.
"It's been crazy, I've started working with the new interns and it's like I've adopted five kids." She groans, rubbing her hands over her eyes in that frustrated way of hers. It's obvious she's a lot more stressed than she's letting on. I feel a sudden need to make it better, to protect her.
I force a chuckle, "Are you also an overbearing mother hen with them?" She gives me a scathing look and tosses the dish towel at me.
"You're not funny," she says, but she's fighting back a smile. I can't help the grin that takes over my face.
"I promise I'll be fine for one day," I say earnestly. She looks a little more reassured now that I'm not so visibly rattled by whatever I'd dreamed about and returns my smile with a tentative one of her own.
"I just worry about you, Kiera." She says it with a gentleness that makes my heart ache a little for something that I'll never have again. She's the only family I have left after everything that's happened.
"I know," I tell her, "and I love you for it." Guilt burns in the back of my throat, and I swallow down the uneasy feeling churning in my chest. Emma's given up so much for me. After the accident, three years ago, I started having problems with my memory. The doctors said it was a trauma response and it would get better. It never did. Emma started helping me out, managing my schedule, checking in with me to make sure I'm doing good and I'm not overwhelmed. She's been my guardian angel these last three years.
Walking over to me, she lays her head against my shoulder and gives a deep world-weary sigh "I love you too," she tells me. My heart clenches inside the cage of my chest. "Even if you think I'm an overbearing mother hen." She's giggling as I shove her away from me and roll my eyes.
"Take it back," I say around a mouthful of what is probably the worst sandwich to have ever been made in the history of the universe, "I hate you."
"No, you don't" she grins and continues in high-pitched sing-song voice; " You love me."
"Don't you have to be at work?" I mumble, annoyed. She glances at her phone and makes a distresses sound of agreement on the back of her throat before grabbing her bag and heading to the door. She turns back to me as if it to say something.
"Get out of my apartment before I throw you out the window." I threaten half-heartedly.
"Sir, yes sir! " she mocks and then ducks out the door before I have the chance to throw this God awful sandwich at her head.