When she woke, she thought she was blind. She opened her eyes and could see only purple darkness, ominous and shapeless shadows stirring within other, darker shadows. Before she had time to panic, the gloom gave way to a pale haze, and the haze resolved into a white, square-tiled ceiling.

She smelled fresh with bed linens. Antiseptics. Disinfectants. Rubbing alcohol.

She turned her head, and pain flashed through the length of her forehead, as if an electric shock had snapped through her skull from one temple to the other. Her eyes immediately swam out of focus, pain surging through her. When her vision cleared once again, she saw that she was in a hospital room.

She could not remember being admitted to a hospital. She didn't even know the name of it or even what city she was currently in. What the heck is wrong with me? She thought, starting to panic once again.

She raised one dismayingly weak arm, put a hand to her brow, and discovered a bandage over half of her forehead. Her hair was a little shorter as well. One thing she could remember was that she had usually worn it long, with her natural dark curls. Now it was shoulder-length, with the same usual curls.

She had little strength to keep her arm raised. An ache was already beginning to form in her forearm; she let it drop back down to the white mattress.

She couldn't raise her left arm whatsoever, for it was taped to a heavy board and pierced by a long silver needle. She was being fed intravenously: the chrome IV rack, with its dangling bottle full of glucose, sat beside the bed in which she lay, weak and confused.

For a moment, she closed her mocha brown eyes, certain that she was only dreaming. When she looked again, however, the room was still there, unchanged: the white tile ceiling, white walls, a green tile floor, pale yellow drapes drawn back at the sides of the large window. Beyond the glass, there were tall evergreen trees of some sort and a cloudy gray sky with few patches of blue sky. There was another bed next to her, but empty; she had no roommate.

The side rails on her own bed were raised to prevent her from falling to the cold hard floor beneath her. She felt as helpless as a baby stuck in a wooden crib with no way out.

It was then she realized she didn't know her own name. Or her age, for that matter. Or anything else that told about herself.

She strained against the blank wall in her mind, attempting to topple it and release the memories imprisoned on the other side. She had no success; the wall stood, inviolate. Like a blossom of frost, fear opened icy petals in the pit of her stomach. She tried even harder to remember, but she still had no success.

Amnesia. Brain damage.

Those dreaded words landed with the force of a brick in her mind. Evidently, she had been in an accident, resulting in a head injury, which had led her to forget almost every possible detail about herself. She considered the grim prospect of permanent mental disorientation, and she shuddered to herself. That thought scared her.

Suddenly, however unexpected and unsought it may have been, her name came to her. Gabriella. Gabriella Anne Marie Montez. Her age came as well. She was seventeen. She was only seventeen years old.

The flood of recollections turned out to be just a trickle. She still had no idea where she was or where she'd come from. She didn't know her favorite food, her favorite music, her favorite movie or anything like that… She didn't even know a single one of her friends' names. Do I even have friends? What about her parents?

Her parents. Her mom was dead. Wow. How did I know that? She died August 4th, 2005. Almost five years ago. She blinked rapidly several times. And her dad? Gabriella racked her brain long and hard, anticipating the answer to come to her mind.

Abuse. And then she knew why her ribs were aching. And she knew why her head was damaged. And she knew why she was in the hospital. And she knew why she was lost and confused. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. That last thing she remembered was being shoved down the stairs and then…

Nothing. After that, she had awakened, confused, weak as heck, and blurry-eyes, in the hospital with no recollection of how she had gotten there at all.

"Well, well. Look who's up."

Gabriella turned her head, searching for the person who had spoken. Her eyes slipped in and out of focus again, and a new dull pain pulsed at the very base of her obviously damaged skull.

"How are you feeling? You look a little pale, but after what you've been through, that's completely expected, isn't it?"

The voice belonged to a nurse who was approaching the bed from the direction of an open door. She was a skinny, red-haired woman with hazel eyes. She was tall, dressed in a white nurse's outfit. She smiled at Gabriella with a warm smile, that made Gabriella feel a little more comfortable than frightened.

Gabriella tried to speak. She couldn't muster up the strength.

"Take your time," the nurse smiled, pushing the red call button at the headboard of Gabriella's bed. "I'm signaling the doctor right now, okay? He just needs to ask you a few questions and see what you know, alright?"

Gabriella nodded weakly, but clung to the nurse's white sleeve.

"It's okay," the nurse reassured her again. She checked the IV drip, then lifted Gabriella's right wrist to time her pulse.

My God. If I can't speak, maybe I can't walk either.

Gabriella tried to move her legs beneath the white sheets. She didn't seem to have feeling in them; they were even more numb and leaden than her arms. A doctor in a white lab coat entered the room, apparently having responded to the call button pressed by the nurse. He was a husky, dour-faced man, about fifty, with thick black hair combed straight back from his deeply lined face. Gabriella looked beseechingly at him as he approached her bed.

Before she could try to speak again, the rapidly expanding darkness reduced her vision to a small spot, a mere dot, then the pinpoint. Darkness. She dreamed. It was a bad dream, very bad, a nightmare. For at least the two-hundredth time, she dreamed she was in her father's house, lying in a pool of her own warm, sticky blood.

When Gabriella awoke again, her headache was gone. Her vision was clear, and she wasn't dizzy any longer. Night had fallen. Her room was dimly lit, but only featureless blackness lay beyond the dark, large window. The IV rack had been taken away. Her needle-marked, discolored arm looked grossly thin against her white sheets.

"What… happened to m-me…?" Gabriella managed to squeak out. Her voice was faint, raspy, and hoarse, most likely from not talking for so long. It was probably difficult to understand, but it was a start, so it didn't matter to her. "Wh-where am I?" She asked, her voice still cracking. Her throat burned and seared.

The doctor pushed a button on the side of the bed and it rose slowly, bringing Gabriella into a sitting position, facing the doctor in the white lab coat. He handed her a glass of water from the bedside water. "Sip it slowly," he said. "It'll make your throat feel better. And then I have some questions, alright?"

Gabriella nodded and eagerly took the cup of water into her right hand. She put it up to her face and tipped it back, letting the cool liquid flow into her mouth. She swallowed, allowing the coldness of the water to soothe her aching sore throat. Once she finished drinking, she handed placed the cup back on the bedside table.

"Can you see my hand?" The doctor asked, placing his hand in front of Gabriella's face.

"Sure," Gabriella said quietly, the words becoming easier to pronounce now that her throat felt better.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked.

"Two," Gabriella said automatically, seeing the two fingers he held before her face.

"And now how many?" He asked, changing the numbers.

"Four," Gabriella replied.

"Good," the doctor grinned, jotting something down in his notebook. He looked back up, his dark eyes probing Gabriella's, as if seeing right through her rather than just seeing her. "And do you know your name?"

"Gabriella Montez," she said, playing with the edge of her sheets.

"Middle name?"

"Anne Marie." Gabriella bit her lip, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, she did. "And that's just about all I remember. I know I'm seventeen as well. I don't know my birthday, though."

The doctor's eyebrows furrowed together, as if he were confused. "You are seventeen. You were right. You were born May 12th, 1993. Is that all you know?"

"Um," Gabriella shifted on her bed. She cleared her throat. "My mother's dead. I'm not sure but… I think my father abused me. But I don't know for sure. I think I remember…"

"You're right on that as well, Miss Montez," the doctor nodded. "That's why you were here. Your next door neighbor found you on the bottom of the steps. The police had had complaints of him abusing you before, but they never did anything about it. They really had no proof to convict him of that. You covered up your bruises very well, sweetheart." He pulled a little mini flashlight out of the pocket of his lab coat. "Okay, just look straight into the light, sweetie. Good. Now follow the light with your eyes. Very good."

Gabriella blinked to clear her eyes again. "Do you know anything about my past?"

"No, not much. You're from New York." He flipped through his clipboard. "You're allergic to a few antibiotics… You've been to eleven different schools your entire life. Do you remember any of those?" He asked.

Gabriella though for a moment. "Yes. There was one in Michigan, one in Texas, Missouri, South Dakota, Washington, California, Utah, Ohio, Illinois, Maine, and New York."

"Very good," the doctor said. "I'm calling the nurse back in with your food. You're going to finally start eating solids. You've been having liquids surged into your body for the past month."

"Month?" Gabriella asked, her mocha eyes wide orbs.

"Yes, Miss Montez," the doctor said softly. "You were in a coma for a month to this day."

"A month?" Gabriella repeated, panicking now. "I can't have lost that much time! I can't have!" She shook her head frantically, her dark brown curls shaking wildly as she did so. "It's completely impossible. I won't believe it. I refuse to believe it… What's the proof?"

The doctor held out his charts to Gabriella. "It says you were brought in May 12th, 2010. Today's June 12th." He showed his watch to her. "And have you not noticed how much weight you've lost, because all you've been getting is liquids?"

Gabriella shook her head, but then nodded. "Well, I noticed that my arms look pathetically thin. But that was all."

"You've lost about twenty pounds in this past month," the doctor said. "And that's not healthy at all. You were already skinny to begin with. And your hair, we had to cut it a bit shorter to put the stitches in your head."

"Stitches?" Gabriella gulped, her hand flying back up to the bandage on her forehead.

"Yes. We had to give you stitches because the gash on your forehead was so deep."

"Can I have a mirror?" Gabriella asked him. As soon as she'd asked, she wished she hadn't. Her face was pale. Her normal heart-shaped face was more narrow. Her cheeks were gaunt. Her eyes were lifeless, and surrounded by purple puffy circles. Though, her complexion was still clear, without any flaws, as it had always been. "Oh, God. I look terrible."

"No, you don't," the nurse said, as she bustled back into the room, that same warm smile on her face. She had a more positive effect on Gabriella than the doctor had. He had seemed kind of rude and hurried. "You look beautiful."

"But you have to say that to all your patients here, don't you?" Gabriella asked.

The nurse laughed and brushed Gabriella's question off. The doctor left the room without another word. "Sorry about him," she added. "He's kind of…"

"Weird?" Gabriella filled in, raising her black eyebrows.

"I guess you could put it that way," the nurse spoke, with a heart laugh. "My name is Lucille."

"Have you been my nurse for the past month, then?"

Lucille nodded with a smile. "And I always knew you were going to pull through. I told them. I told them from the very start. Hardly anyone believed me. But somehow I knew you were tough and that you were going to make it. You're a fighter. That's important."

"What if I slip into another coma?" Gabriella asked.

"You won't," Lucille reassured her.

"Where am I going after I get out of here?" Gabriella asked.

Lucille hesitated for a moment. "You know, they haven't figured that out yet. Obviously, your dad's in jail, so you can't go back with him. And we wouldn't put you back with him anyway. We'd have to get Child Services out there… We can't seem to contact any of your family. It seems as if you have no other family."

Gabriella bit her lower lip. "You know, I can't seem to remember having any other family myself… Is that a bad thing? Doesn't that mean you have no where to place me? I won't have to go to a foster home or orphanage or something, will I?"

Lucille smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it. If we can't find anyone to place you with, you can stay at my house as long as you'd like. I have a handsome son about your age. He's actually here. But he's eating. Imagine that. A star basketball playing teen eating."

Gabriella laughed a little.

"His name is Troy," Lucille said. "I personally think he's the devil… No, I'm totally joking. He's a little sweetheart. Everyone loves him." She came over to Gabriella's bed and stuck a thermometer underneath her tongue.

"Mom!" Someone exclaimed as they came running into the hospital room. Gabriella caught her breath. Lucille was quite right. He was so cute. He was tall, with an athletic build, and strong muscles, but not too buff, like the creepy people on commercials. He had shaggy brown hair that fell just above his gorgeous baby blue eyes. He had a strongly structured face and flawless skin. He was grinning a cute little award-winning grin that made you want to melt into a puddle at his feet. "Oh, sorry." He said, his eyes moving over to Gabriella.

"Troy, what did I tell you about running into patient's rooms like that?" Lucile scolded Troy as if he was a little kid.

Troy nodded. "Yeah, mom, I know. But I have to tell you something!"

"What, Troy?" Lucille asked, as the thermometer beeped. She took it out of Gabriella's mouth and checked it. She wrote something down on her clipboard. She turned to look at her son. "Can't you see I'm with someone? Where are your manners?"

"Oh, sorry," Troy said. He walked over to the bed, a humorous look on his face. "I'm Troy." He stuck out his hand to shake her hand. "And you are?"

"Gabriella," she replied softly, shaking hand. When there hands touched, Troy and Gabriella both felt and electric spark run through their bodies and when their eyes connected, a warm glow went over their skin.

"Troy," Lucille warned, rolling her hazel eyes. "Stop."

Troy looked at his mom, his baby blue eyes wide. "What did I do?" He asked, offensively, losing his focus for a second, completely mesmerized by how beautiful Gabriella still looked, even though she'd been in a coma for a month. He knew this because he'd visited her room before. He'd talked to her, though he knew she couldn't hear him. But it was a way to vent his feelings.

"I'm with her," Lucille said. "I have to check on her."

"When did you wake up?" Troy asked, surprised.

"Not too long ago," Gabriella said, her voice rough again.

"You don't, like, remember me… do you?" Troy asked, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Vaguely," Gabriella asked, looking from Troy to Lucille. "Should I remember you?"

Troy shook his head. "I suppose not. We've never met."

Gabriella was confused now. "If we've never met than how are you so vaguely familiar? And why are you asking me if I remember you? Why should I remember you if we've never even met before?" Gabriella asked, trying to get al of her questions out.

Troy shrugged. "I don't know."

"He's lying," Lucille said. "He used to come in here and talk to you. I caught him once or twice."

Troy blushed again. "Mom!" he groaned.

"You did?" Gabriella asked, her eyes traveling back over to Troy. "I think I do remember you. Somehow. If I was in a coma, then I don't know how…"

"But you do?" Troy asked.

"Ish," Gabriella said.

"Ish?" Lucille asked. "And what on earth does ish mean?"

Gabriella laughed quietly. "It means kinda. It's just shorter to say. I don't know where I got it. I don't remember ever saying it before."

"You got it from me," Troy grinned. "I say that a lot. You must have heard me say it when I talked to you in your coma."

"What did you talk about?" Gabriella asked.

Troy avoided the question. "That's a nice plant," he said randomly, suddenly becoming very interested in the potted green plant sitting on the windowsill.

Lucille rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go get your tray of food. I'll be back. Troy, be good."

Troy stuck his tongue out at his mom as she left the room. Troy returned to Gabriella's side. "So how are you feeling?" He asked eagerly, as if he needed to know for some odd reason.

"Ugh," Gabriella moaned. "I'm hungry. And tired. And cold." She sighed. "And on top of that, I know hardly anything about my past life. A few things have come back, but not much… Hey, do you know if any of my stuff was brought here along with me? Maybe that will bring back something."

"Um," Troy turned around. "I doubt it. Well, actually, I remember someone bringing in a shoe box… I think they may have put it in your closet. Hold on." He walked over to the closet and reached for the knob. Gabriella felt strangely cold and a weird feeling took over her.

"Don't!" She suddenly shouted.

Troy turned around, his eyes wide. "What?" He said, removing his hand from the door knob.

"I have this weird feeling…"Gabriella said, feeling quite out of breath. "You shouldn't be anywhere near that closet. Please, just… We'll look later." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, leaning back against her pillow to take a breath.

"Okay," Troy returned to her bedside as Lucille rushed into the room, a yellow foam tray in her hands.

"What's going on?" She asked. "I thought I heard someone yell." She looked curiously and eagerly between Troy and Gabriella.

Gabriella shook her head. "Nothing. I just had a weird moment." Lucille lay the tray down on Gabriella's lap and helped her sit up. Gabriella was so hungry that she began to shove food in her mouth, not particularly caring how she looked.

Suddenly, something popped into Gabriella's head. A memory perhaps. She was sitting down on a deck, with her feet in the water, with a girl on her left side, and a boy on her right. It was dark outside, but the moon lit up the scenery just right. They were swaying slowly back and forth and singing softly in perfect harmony. "Hey now, this is my desire. Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful to touch me…"

Gabriella's eyes flickered open, coming back into reality from the vivid memory. It was so real and life-like, so she knew it hadn't been a dream. That had actually been a point in her life, something she actually could remember about her past. This brought a faint smile to her lips.

"What?" Lucille and Troy asked in unison.

Gabriella realized she must have looked like an idiot right now. She'd stopped eating and dropped her fork, looked up, and smiled like a maniac. She began laughing hysterically, so hard that it brought tears to her mocha eyes. She was clutching her sides, which were aching from the manner of her laughing and she couldn't stop. But it felt good to laugh. It felt good to get it all out in the open, and laugh off her confusion. Because when she laughed, Troy laughed with her. And that seemed to make a whole lot more sense.