Caira's POV
My head throbbed badly as I tried to breathe. I slowly opened my eyelids, only to feel a stinging, salty pain in my eyes.
Bubbles flowed from my nose as I forced myself to breathe through my nostrils. Everything around me was a blurry blue, and I realized I was underwater. Desperate to survive and avoid a repeat of history, I struggled and yelped for help each time my head broke the surface - it was a pool, I saw the last time I looked up.
But my legs felt heavy, as if tied to massive stones, refusing to budge.
Oh gosh, who put me here? Was I going to die again, this time against my will?
If I wanted to live, I had to fight for it. "Help!" I screamed underwater as loudly as I could, and the sound echoed through the water, causing more water to rush into my mouth.
I jolted upright, but something pulled me down. It was my mother - how was that possible? I was supposed to be dead, or was this some kind of afterlife?
My deep breaths burned my throat and pounded against my ribcage. Despite my confusion, I took in the scene before me faster than I expected. My mother's voice was sweet, a stark contrast to her usual tone, "Relax, honey." She encouraged me, her hands placed to my shoulders.
No, this wasn't real life. My mother had never been sweet to me.
What was wrong with the universe? I wondered, my eyes following the motion of my dad and three other men clad in white garment, circling me with a broom and a bowl. I was on the verge of tears. The scene was unbearable. Was this a punishment for taking my own life?
This time, I tried to resist my mother's grip and make a move, maybe run away? But she yanked me back.
"Lay down there, honey," she growled, her tone softening only at the word "honey."
"What's happening here?" I managed to utter my first words in this bizarre situation.
"It's a ritual; you've been possessed with an advanced Schizophrenia," one of the unknown men spoke up, his voice firm.
He dug his hand into the bowl and began splashing its contents onto my face. I squinted, wincing in pain.
Two of the other men began flogging me with the broom, causing agony throughout my body. My father circled me, chanting in unison with my mom.
My mom held me firmly in place, "It's gonna be alright!" She tried to comfort me, but I knew something was definitely off - my mom never used abbreviations or contractions; she always spoke in full, precise words.
I succumbed to the piercing pain of the broom on my skin and gently lay back, losing consciousness.
The next time my eyes opened, they met my reflection, seated in a swivel chair, with a hairdresser styling my hair in my parents' suite. I was already made up, with a beaming blush that complimented my hairdo and makeup.
From my appearance, I could tell it was for a special occasion. Ah, a wedding, I thought, as I gazed into the mirror in front of me and saw a wedding dress behind me, hanging on a padded hanger from a valet rod.
The urge to ask what was happening surpassed my dazed state, but I shrugged it off and played along.
Soon, my mother emerged from the suite's open entrance and walked towards me graciously.
"Caira dear," she squeaked, approaching and embracing me from behind. I knew she could see me in the mirror, and everyone else could too, so I closed my eyes and pretended to enjoy her hug.
"I'm so happy to be myself," I lied, feigning gratitude.
Something was definitely wrong; it was as if the world had switched back the moment I drowned and was now stuck in a time loop.
"What day is it?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
My mother rested her chin on my shoulder, her eyes fixed on my reflection. I forced a smile, contorting my cheeks to appear happy.
"What do you mean, what day is this? It's your wedding day, darling," my mother said, her voice dripping with excitement. The ladies dressing me up stood at a corner, their heads slightly bowed, their eyes cast downward.
"No, I mean what day is it?" I let out a nervous chuckle.
She gently peeked at my made-up cheek and gestured for the stylists to resume their work as she strode away. My head tilted, I watched her retreat until she was out of sight.
The stylist gently turned my head to face forward, and she resumed her work. My phone, which I hadn't noticed until then, lay face down on the mirror table. I hastily picked it up and clicked the screen open.
A picture I didn't remember taking with my mom was the screen lock, but that wasn't what I wanted to check; I wanted to know the time and what day it was. I glanced around the screen, feeling like I had lost my memory on how to use a smartphone.
My eyes scanned the screen, and eventually, they landed on the time and date. My breath hitched. It was July 13th, 11 PM - a day I remembered clearly, a day I had lived just three days ago.
No notifications, no news, no records of the previous days - the worst part was that I remembered drowning, along with my purse and phone. It was as if I had been erased from existence, only to be resurrected into this strange new reality.
I gasped as if it was my last breath, and panic set in. I struggled to suppress it, but it wouldn't subside, until the ladies noticed.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?" one of them asked, concern etched on her face.
"I'll get Mrs. Thane," the second lady said, while the other held me.
I was almost out of breath, but I managed to blurt, "No, don't, I'll be fine." I forced a convincing smile, still gasping for air, but slowly it began to subside.
"I'm afraid to say, ma'am, but I think your mother is doing something bad to you," one of the ladies bowed, her head, her face downcast and whispered.
My senses reeling, I widened my eyes in shock, glaring at her reflection in the gigantic mirror.