Page 13

“Then we will get Ren to check her over. Call her up,” a new voice says. “But we’re not bringing her to the hospital. She hates them, you know that.”

His comment fills me with relief.

What is going on? Who are these people?

And why can’t I open my eyes?

I try to, but before I can, darkness finds me.

I jolt awake with a gasp, eyes snapping open as my chest throbs. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as fear and pain consume me.

With a whimpered sob, I sit up and look around.

I blink the haze from my mind, and it takes a moment for my memories to come back to me.

The rain, the deer, the crash—it all comes flooding back.

I must be in the hospital. Fuck!

When I see the familiar furniture of my room, confusion settles in.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, as the feeling of someone using my skull as a drum causes a wave of nausea to crash into me.

How the hell did I get home? Did I climb out of my truck and walk? Did someone pick me up and give me a ride? And why the fuck don’t I remember? It did happen, right? I’m not having another bizarre dream again, am I?

Missing chunks of time isn’t normal. At first, I thought maybe it might be because of how I’ve been overworking myself, but maybe, as much as I hate to admit it, my dissociative disorder from my PTSD might be back.

I’ve been doing so fucking good. Years of therapy have done wonders for me.

Why now? I thought I was over it. I thought it was behind me.

I should have known better. One doesn’t just get over being nearly beaten to death by their ex.

Nope. Now is not the time to allow those memories to sink in.

Shaking my head, I groan, regretting that movement immediately.

I manage to get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.

If I were having an episode, it would explain why my body feels like it’s been hit by a bus.

Flicking on the light, I gasp in shock when I see the black eye and cut lip.

Or... I really was hit by a bus.

Okay, not a bus, but a car crash.

So, I did nearly hit a deer and then swerve off the road.

But how the hell did I get home?

Frowning, I stare at my reflection, seeing in my eyes the moment the memory comes back.

The voices. Someone was carrying me, people were talking. They mentioned a hospital, then someone else said not to take me there.

Did they just bring me home? And who was it that did?

“Who are you?” I murmur to myself. “And what do you want with me?”