Idiot, idiot, IDIOT. I don't think anyone could be as stupid as me. Give me a situation, and it's a sure thing that I'll make it even worse than it already is. I can guarantee it. Am I proud of it? Obviously not, especially when you're told to leave your friend's house because you decided that it was perfectly fine to interject in the middle of an argument with her parents. I was only trying to help, too. But apparently, saying "It was actually my fault, Mrs. Drew" is unacceptable.

But what makes it worse is that it's nearly ten at night, she lives in a secluded – not to mention sketchy - area of our tiny town, and I was supposed to sleep over. Walking with an overnight bag full of my clothes and my laptop, with some money and my phone in my pockets, isn't reassuring. It feels like a million eyes are following me but I can't see anyone through their darkened blinds.

"Just run if someone approaches you," I whisper to myself. A dog barks loudly from behind a chainlink fence and I squeal, jumping back. It slams against the fence and growls like he's ready to GO, like he's ready to kill me. And I start RUNNING. "Dogs are fucking scary now," I whimper, nearly tripping over a block of cement that was raised up over the years because of overgrown tree roots. "What happened to cute and cuddly?"

For awhile, I jog in absolute silence. Even if I'm jostling and jingling left and right, drawing more attention than I did before, it's kind of comforting knowing that I did track in middle school so I could outrun some of these guys EASY. But the silence ruins it. I mean, even the dogs have stopped barking. The voices and sounds coming from TV sets that were muffled by the walls disappear. Not even the cheap streetlights make loud buzzing noises because the bulbs hadn't been replaced in 5 years. I can't hear a thing except for my own even breathing, the shuffle of my feet on the fround, and the noises my bags make.

And something feels wrong.

It happens so suddenly. I don't even know what happens. I can barely make out the sound of a small engine running before I'm on the ground, breaking into breathy sobs and clutching at my thigh. It felt like it was broken, and the wind was knocked out fo me, and I could vaguely make out the shape of a motorcycle circling around. Another joins in, and I'm trying so hard to stand up, looking behind me at the alley that stretched out into the opposite side of the neighborhood. If I could get up and try to run as best as I could, maybe a broken leg would be the worst of my damage. If I couldn't run, I would have to give up everything on me that was worth money.

Something starts buzzing. At first it seems like the streetlights springing to life, or the engine revving down because the guy was kicking his brakes beside the curb to my left. He removes his helmet, and I can't make him out. But I can't make anything out. My vision goes in and out, fuzzy and uneven, and my breathing returns only to disappear again. My mind feels like it's shaking; the pain in my leg was nothing compared to this. It's like everything is being ripped apart from the inside until all I can see is white, with no way to tell if my eyes are opened or closed, the frantic voice of the motorcyclist calling out to his friend.

"Dude," he screeches, his voice going up like a little girl's, "Ben, dude, she's gone. She's fucking gone. She just fucking LEFT."

"She probably ran, asshole," another calmer voice pipes up. "Better for us, right? She probably thought we intentionally hit her. You need to stop doing all of those tricks, man."

"Shut up about the tricks! She didn't just leave, she… she disappeared. She didn't get up, it's like she just slipped away into thin air."

Laughing. It echoes in my mind until it gets fuzzy, distant, like a really crappy quality song you didn't download from iTunes and synced to your iPod at the last second and end up totally disappointed in the car while you listen to it. I sit there in this weird white light, and I'm convinced I'm dead. Things start splitting like atoms in a 7th grade science project, and the laughter fades away completely. I can blink, flex my fingers, and then It feels like I'm shoved underwater. I AM underwater. I thrash and punch and the foul taste of dirt is in my mouth, someone grappling at my shirt. And then nothing.

"L'hai trovato nel fiume?" A woman's soft voice, deepened slightly with age, and a cool hand pressed against my forehead.

"Si," a man responds, low and soft, like they were sharing secrets. "Ha iniziato galleggiante fino in fondo, e quando ho colomba in dopo di lei, ha iniziato a tirare pugni e calci contro di me."

A hum. "E dei suoi vestiti? Sono strani, nella migliore delle ipotesi. Deve essere da qualche strana. Povera ragazza. Pensi che saltò giù il Ponte Vecchio?"
Silence. For so long, I want to open my eyes, or at least try to. My lungs feel like they're collapsing and it still feels like waves are crashing against my ears when the woman finally receives an answer. "No. E 'stato come apparsa dal cielo..."

Sigh. "Oh, bene. Forse, si spera, lei si ricorderà quello che è successo a lei. Venite, i bambini potrebbero essere chiedendo cosa è successo. Federico è sicuramente sveglio," the woman says, her voice louder now. I can only listen as they leave me alone, the soft creak of a door and the padding of their footsteps echoing in my sore ears.

...where was I?

Awake. Awake. Finally. My eyes are sore, but I need to open them, and I do. Everything is covered in the squiggles that come into view when you rub your eyes too hard, multicolored and evading being directly seen. I groan loudly, hearing my gravelly voice, and let my head roll to the side. Shuffling my legs in my sheets, I immediately think I'm in the hospital, and everything was just a dream. But I open my eyes again, and I don't see the sterile hospital equipment. No fluorescent lights, no pock-marked ceilings that looked like they came out of an elementary school portable classroom, no chairs for visitors and someone from my family, probably my mother, constantly hovering over me.

No, what I see instead is darkly colored furniture. A heavy bedside table with stubby candles all over it, that looked like it could kill a man from its weight alone. A vanity against the wall, shiny and dark brown, with a low bench facing the mirror. Next to that is a door, wood nearly black. I flip my head tiredly to the side. A large window is covered by heavy red curtains. And sprawled on a sofa beside the window is a teenage boy... or a guy in his early twenties, at least, arm dangling off the side. The sofa looked like it should have been in a museum.

Actually, this entire house looked like it could BE the museum.

I swing my legs down, cringing at the sharp pain in my thigh. So I wasn't dreaming. I hobble towards the door, taking note of the thick but comfortbale nightgown that fell WELL past my knees. Clearly whoever found me in the water valued decency... Oh, God, if one of those scary polygamist cults found me, I am going to die...

"Hello?" I call. I sound so scratchy, like I was about to cough up a hairball. Reaching out for a gold doorknob, I grasp at it for balance, leaning carefully against the vanity to my right so it didn't press against my thigh too painfully. I pull the door open slowly, peeking out into a bright hallway. "Is anyone home?"

I lean against the deep red walls, passing by doors that my hand glided over like marble. Passing by a window, I have to squint hard, the afternoon light too bright for me. Shit, I wonder how long I was out. Maybe it's been years... Speaking of, though, who changed me into this dress? I hope it was the woman from earlier.

"Anyone?" I sigh, reaching a corner. In front of me, the hall goes on, but there was a huge staircase. I shuffle towards it, taking the steps one at a time. The lower I get, the louder voices become, soft female mutters and a little boy, a deeper but still boyish voice coming after it. They chatter familiarly in Italian. Italy... How did I get to Italy?

A dark head peeks out. Tan skin, brown hair, hazel eyes. A teenage boy, maybe around one of my brothers' ages, widens his eyes at the sight of me, and widens the door into a little foyer wider. He reaches out with an upturned palm, all gentlemanly, and I stop as he calls out to his mother, "Oh, mamma, è sveglia adesso!"

I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest, licking at chapped lips with a dry tongue, and offer a lame smile at the family in front of me, with their dark hair and their tanned skin, their dresses and clothes making them look like they were actors or Renaissance enthusiasts. Whoever, whatever they were, they seem shocked at my... brazenness, and the fact I was finally awake. Which makes me assume I was sleeping for awhile...

"Come ti senti?" the woman asks me. She was the woman from earlier most definitely, her voice the same soothing tone.
"Buona. Voglio dire ... Buono considerando Non ho idea di dove mi trovo," I answer with a little hesitation. My words tangle together and sound awkwardly accented, heavily influenced by my Brooklyn accent getting mixed up with it. Ugh...
"Siete a Firenze, il miele. Così si parla italiano?" Ah. Florence. So that's why their dialect sounds so weird to me.
"Un po '. Io non sono fluente. Sembra come se fossi ma sono solo la metà e io non lo parlo molto spesso intorno alla mia famiglia."
"Ah. Forse si dovrebbe tornare a letto. Verrò in un po ', ma non sono molto decenti in questo momento, eh?" She nods at the young girl on the couch, maybe around my age, a little younger, and scowls at her son. I turn my head in enough time to see the perverted smile playing on his face, and cover myself more tightly. Clearly I wasn't in the right place, not anymore. I could walk around at home in booty shorts and half a tanktop and this wouldn't have happened.

I follow the girl up the stairs, sucking up my pain. She walks so gracefully, like she's gliding on air. I could never walk like that. God, I really must have gone through some freaky Star Trek wormhole. There is no possible way that this family is real. Maybe I've gone into a coma and this has become my life. Maybe I've been on life support for 4 years.

Or maybe I'm just dreaming.

She leads me to a room just off the stairs, which is definitely her bedroom. A few dresses are draped over a changing screen and a high-backed chair, a huge, comfortable-looking bed sitting in the center of the room. She nearly shoves me down onto the bed, and I gladly sink into it, feeling my thigh kind of starting to pulse every now and then.

"Hai bisogno di un vestito, sì?" she questions, marching towards a closet. Do I need a dress... yep. "Posso aiutare in questo. Hai dormito per una settimana, lo sai. Noi tutti chiedevo se tu fossi morto. L'unica persona che si è reagito a Federico, mio fratello. Che entusiasta mio padre. Lui è molto confuso su di te, perché si è tentato di combattere contro di lui spegne quando stava cercando di salvarti. Non sei la prima persona che ha tirato fuori da un fiume, sia. Tirò fuori il Magnifico stesso! Forse si finirà così grande ... pensi così, Caterina?"

I furrow my brows. Caterina is my name in Italian, the name my parents gave me. I don't remember telling anyone that, but then again, she said I talked to her brother. Federico... he must have been the guy sleeping on the couch. And Il Magnifico... The Magnificent. She was definitely talking about one of those Medici guys. Lorenzo de Medici, his name was... I think... if I remember my seventh grade history class right.

"Uh, yeah," I nod, then shake my head. "I mean, si. Si."

She pops out, holding a silky, light blue dress out in front of her. "Sono Claudia, tra l'altro. Claudia Auditore. E credo che questo colore sarebbe bello con la pelle pallida, sì? Bisogna guardare bello, dopo tutto. Stai finalmente andare a pranzo con noi. Papa parlerà con voi."

At first, I nod at what she's saying, agreeing with it without truly hearing. But it settles in. Dining with the family. Her father will finally talk to me. My eyes widen like Ezio's did and my dry mouth feels even dryer. Her fucking FATHER, the man who saved my life. God forbid I screw this up.