author's notes: was technically supposed to upload this tomorrow but hey, the chapter is done and ready so why not just jump the gun? in case y'all are wondering, i'm hoping to stick to a schedule of once a week (every wednesday) for uploads. enjoy ~

It was Sunday. Light gray streaks lined the sky, the purples and blues fading altogether. I dressed quickly, my entire workout outfit mismatching and wrinkled from having spent the night in heaps on the floor. When I had left the room, I realized I never even really got a good look around before. I only knew the living room, briefly, and the kitchen. It was only when I had gone in search of Bonnie's room, wanting to know whether or not she was awake, that it hit me—who else lived in the house?

I was 10, for goodness sakes, when the show first aired. How was I supposed to remember who Bonnie lived with? To be fair, it was a 50/50 shot. Either her Grams or her dad. And to be quite honest, I wasn't too keen on finding out anytime soon.

Practically choking on the last of my frantic mixture of too dry cereal and thick banana slices, I shoved everything I used to make myself food in the sink. One final glance in the living room mirror proved to show that I looked about the same. Same dark, dark brown eyes. Same dark brown hair and light brown skin. I pretended not to notice the extra softness of my hair, how it caught in the light. I tried not to linger on the surreal smoothness of my skin, the lack of acne scarring or craters or dark spots. And with some difficulty, I struggled to overlook the fact that I was clearly a few years younger too, and instead just focused on opening the front door without making a single sound.

My hand, suddenly heavy, hesitated. The cool, cool metal did nothing to appease my fear. As brave as I could pretend to be—I was scared shitless. The entire time I had been shoveling food into my mouth, my eyes had been practically glued to the window, which overlooked the front yard (much like the window in the room I was in). The occasional car passed, silent and gone within seconds. Sometimes the whisper of wind would flutter the leaves on the tree in the front yard. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to fear. What I was looking at was the poster picture of a serene, lazy morning. The perfect view to feast your eyes on as you began your day. And that, above all else, was what terrified me beyond belief. It was too quiet at 7 in the morning. Too still. The calm before the storm was how it felt. The second the door was open—all bets were off. In that room, down the hall, I could lull myself into believing that this was all a dream, perhaps a hallucination. But out here, exposed, my back to a house which wasn't supposed to exist, everything felt too goddamn real.

So, I don't blame myself for shaking as I closed my eyes and let myself, once again, touch the door knob. I don't blame myself for holding my breath and twisting my wrist like my fucking life was on the line. I don't blame myself, because it took a lot for me to open the only barricade between fiction and myself—to allow myself to meet another world I had been unaware of until just yesterday. The door, thank the universe, swung open smoothly, without complication. Trembling, I stepped outside onto the porch, knees slightly bent, feet positioned to run in case I needed to. But I wasn't planning on the sun, soft and buttery, immediately warming my skin, making me feel like I was being embraced.

My knees hit the pavement, bones stinging from the impact, and I snapped my head up, suddenly desperate, suddenly hungry—starved beyond belief of such simple contact. A strangled gasp stuttered past my teeth, hand steadying myself as I hunched over, eyes burning and stomach twisting painfully. My heart was pounding so hard it made my head swim, the sound of my blood rushing muting the outside world for a brief moment—and then there was just silence. I knew I was about to pass out because my vision blackened around the edges, fraying like burnt newspaper, and I had to get a grip and breathe.

I swallowed gulp after gulp of air, only stopping when caught in a coughing fit. Forehead pressed to the ground, I closed my eyes—half in exhaustion and half in order to prevent the onslaught of tears that threatened to come.

Somewhere nearby leaves rustled gently, being caressed by a breeze, the singing of a few birds mixing sweetly with it. The sun bore down on me almost kindly, soothing the cracks in my armor that were starting to deepen.

I want to go home, I thought, heaving a weary sigh. I want to wake up from this nightmare and be back home—

—I don't belong here.

With a tremble in my legs I ignored, and a slight sting in my knees, I dragged myself up and onto the porch step behind me. My hair was mussed and a clump of strands were out of my ponytail, sticking to my damp face and neck. The heat was already rearing its ugly head, and I huffed in annoyance when I let my hair down and it tangled between my fingertips. I wasn't okay. I knew rationally that I couldn't go through with this. The second I saw Matt I'd probably only breakdown and lose it some more. I knew I was unstable, seeing as a few angry tears escaped the corners of my eyes, the ponytail mess pushing me over the fragile edge I had been balancing on. But I didn't have any other choice. Running away wouldn't do me any good; I didn't even have any money on me. I had to figure out what was happening. Had to wriggle all the answers I could out of Matt. And that could only happen if I didn't look like someone just died in front of me.

Sniffling, I smoothed my hair down as best as I could without a mirror, a few beads of sweat collecting on my upper lip and chin. Wiping my eyes with one hand and dusting my knees with the other, I watched the sun, shining beautifully, climb the sky—slowly, almost shyly, as if for the first time. I sat there for a little while, enjoying the heat that seemed to chase the cold away from my bones and flush my skin. It wasn't until there was a sudden snap of a twig shattering my trance that I opened my eyes and stood quickly, on instinct, almost tripping on my own two feet in my haste to take on a defensive stance.

Everything was white for a split second before my eyes adjusted to the blaring light—and I was suddenly staring into gentle pools of blue. I froze, lips parted for a greeting which couldn't seem to squeeze out of my lungs.

Matt smiled widely, eyes dancing in amusement and head tilting to the side as he let out a slight laugh at my expression. "Sorry about that— I thought you read my message." He chuckled softly, a flop of blonde hair messily covering his forehead.

I managed to stop my racing thoughts enough to stammer out a— "Oh right, that. It's uh… on silent."

Matt was tall, almost a whole head above me, with broad shoulders and a lean figure. The shirt he had on, a faded gray which clung to him perhaps a bit too tight, contrasted the black sweats which hung low on his hips. I groaned internally, frowning. How did I forget that everyone in the Vampire Diaries universe is attractive as all hell? I swear to god, it's like no one below a fucking 8 exists in this world.

"That's probably not the best idea." He grinned, flashing his teeth which, I thought glumly, were brighter than my future could ever be. "But I'll try to make more noise next time." He added, bowing his head to hide another smile.

"I've been jittery." I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like an awkward huff. "Thought sun bathing would do me good." My shoulder rose and dropped noncommittedly, but I half-smiled, forcing myself to relax just a tiny bit.

"Jittery?"

"Yeah…" I trailed off, realizing after a beat of silence that he was looking for an actual explanation—one I couldn't really give at the moment.

I just… couldn't stop staring. This was—this was Matt Donovan. Star football player, Mystic Grill busboy, human hero, Elena's current boyfriend. Here he was, right before my very eyes, looking every bit the young teen type, much younger than I was expecting. Some part of me, still convinced I was hallucinating, didn't think of him as real. My hand was suddenly in front of me, touching his shoulder before I could properly register the fact that I had even decided to move—and I barely restrained a flinch at finding the solid body beneath my fingertips. His shoulders moved slightly with his rhythmic breathing, and I could tell he was warm even through the thick shirt. Warm. Alive. Human.

"I…" The sentence died on my tongue, not having thought so far ahead as to come up with a reason for my actions. My hand dropped just as I felt heat creeping along my neck and heating my cheeks, embarrassment flooding my expression.

"Sorry—I… I don't know." This time I did manage to laugh, but the sound was too somber to be considered good-humored.

"Hey," Matt's eyebrows pinched, that…familiar crease on his forehead deepening. "It's fine. How're you feeling?"

He leaned down, looking me over quickly, not waiting for my response. The corners of his lips lowered, a sudden contrast to his previous mood. "Maybe we should skip our run for today."

My mouth opened in protest, yet it shut just as quickly. I didn't feel like arguing over something so trivial—I was lucky he didn't get completely weirded out by me touching him out of the blue—so I just nodded, giving an awkward smile. "Being sick is driving me nuts." I offered, hoping it was explanation enough.

"I don't doubt it, Sam. I'm surprised you even got sick in the first place. What happened to your year streak?" It took me a few seconds to realize he was teasing me.

"Ah…right. Yeah, that's gone now. I'll try again soon, I guess." I managed a laugh, as weak as it was.

"Well then, let's hope you recover fast."

Matt nudged me with his arm, playful, and started walking down the pathway, heading toward the sidewalk. Soon we were making our way down the block, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. I realized then that I hadn't felt uncomfortable in his presence at all. It was like I had known him for years.

I decided to add that to the pile of things I chose to ignore.

The crunch of leaves beneath our feet as we made our way into an opening in the trees soothed my nerves enough to let me think somewhat clearly. My reaction before had been expected, but now I had to act normal enough to get what I needed from Matt. Despite my brain telling me to be cautious, I couldn't help the way my heart practically ached with unbridled affection. It was strange enough being in this world that existed only in fiction, but having my body split into two different reactions? I can roll with a lot of crazy shit, but this one just might take the cake.

"Matt—" I stopped, short. Unsure of what to say, but really it was just that I had too much to say. What could I possibly ask first that wouldn't sound suspicious? Or like I lost my mind?

"Yeah?" He encouraged, when he noticed I wasn't going to continue my sentence.

"Last night," I paused briefly, gathering my thoughts, "you said you wanted to hang out today, regardless if we were running or not. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about, but is there any reason why?" Another pause. "Or did you just miss me?" I added, trying to keep my tone light.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm capable of missing you when I see you practically six days a week? Pssh, yeah right."

"Ouch. I regret not flaking on you, now."

"And spend your Sunday indoors? Not to mention sick." Matt shook his head vehemently. "Nah, you wouldn't have."

"Whatever you say." I held my hands up, slowing down my steps when he stopped and letting myself plop onto the soft grass. "That doesn't answer my question, though."

The ground was surprisingly comfortable. I could imagine laying back and watching the day pass with some good music and company…maybe even staying here so late that the stars and dark sky are all that could be seen, cool breeze all that is felt. Imagining morphed into remembering, and it hit me like a train that it was a memory I was thinking about, not a scenario I'd thought up.

"Right." He said, bringing me back to the present with a rush, sitting down across from me with a sigh. "My mom came home yesterday."

Despite not knowing what those words meant, my body seized up in what I recognized as panic, heart lurching in my chest.

Oh no. What did she do? Is he okay? Did she hurt him? I swear to god—

"Yeah, I felt like that too." Matt chuckled at me, but his face didn't hold much humor. "She didn't give us any warning this time."

"Ah," Inner monologue distracting me, I struggled to compose myself. "What happened?"

"We… fought. She brought Pete with her, and Vicki flipped when they came inside and mom asked her to make him a sandwich while he waited for her to grab some things." He frowned as he spoke, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "I had to stop her from trying to throw a glass cup at him." There was a slight quirk to his lip, but his eyes weren't smiling. "Almost didn't want to. But I couldn't let things escalate like that."

He rolled his head on his shoulders, muttering something about feeling sore, before laying down. The sun, high in the cotton candy blue sky at this point, shone sweetly onto Matt's body, sheathing him in a blanket of warmth. Eyes closed, voice faraway, he continued speaking. I watched him, trying my hardest to stay quiet, because there was a roar in my head. A sudden rushing of blood, my heartbeat fast and loud and I didn't know what was happening to me. I wanted to cry and scream and threaten his mom—it was almost as if…I was observing the events unfolding in front of me, hearing this story and taking it all in while my body, my instincts, all protested against my stiffness, wanting me to do something.

"… and the only reason my mom was there was to tell us she wouldn't be able to give us the full amount of the check she sends every month. That, and how she wouldn't be coming back for a while." He almost scoffed at that. "She grabbed some things from her room, took Vicki's tub of ice cream from the freezer—and almost, almost got out without too much of a problem, when she asked me to give her $20 for gas.

"It's almost funny—I had that exact amount in my pocket, but was planning on getting some groceries, since I hadn't gone in almost a week and there was no milk. Vicki and I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and I was just about to head out when my mom arrived. Vicki knew, and she knew I'd give my mom the money without saying anything, so she cut in and told her no. That's when shit hit the fan."

He draped an arm across his face, shielding it from the light, and remained silent for a few beats. I could feel a few tears spilling over my cheeks, hands shaking so bad from the desire to touch him, give some comfort, and from the entire helplessness of the situation. Pressing a fist into my stomach, the pressure distracting, I grasped at anything which would reel me in, bring me back into myself.

"I managed to get Vicki out without them actually getting into it. But… some nasty stuff was said. After they left, Vicki started crying, and, you know her. She rarely ever cries. She started telling me all these things about moving out and getting a place for ourselves. How we'd never have to see mom again. But…we don't have the money for that. At least, not right now. Not with all the bills we have to pay.

"I don't know. I really don't. I'm barely going to be a junior in high school—have a lot of other things to worry about already, without adding that to the list."

"Matt…" I couldn't seem to say anything else, voice threatening to crack. Instead, I laid down beside him, fighting the urge to hold him all the while. "I'm sorry," was all I could muster, and I flinched, feeling useless.

I won't make any promises that it'll get any easier, but you aren't alone in this—

My teeth clamped onto my bottom lip, painfully so, but the voice broke free for a moment, sweeping me to the back of my mind.

"You're never alone, Matt."

My eyes closed on their own accord, the sharp jabs in my chest enough to make me feel like I was hyperventilating. I hadn't even considered our conversation taking this turn. I thought I could get the ball rolling about myself and find out what I needed to, but now I was roped up in something which quite frankly shouldn't be happening to someone who woke up in a fake world with fake people and goddamn it—why me?

Half of the words I seemed to say were mine, and the other spilled from my lips without permission, without thought. It was natural, a habit. And as I rolled over until I was against Matt's side, shoulder bumping his, smiling when he turned his head to look at me—I knew that I wasn't in full control of my actions, either.

Some time passed, the sun settled itself high in the sky, and we both grew hungry. I was afraid to go back to Bonnie's place, especially once I checked my phone and the screen lit up with about 10 messages and two missed calls. I wondered why she had stopped trying to reach me, and was grateful for a few blissful seconds until Matt's cell rang loud enough to make me trip.

He barely glanced at the caller ID. "Hey Bon." My lips pressed into a line. "Uh, yeah. She's with me." He side-eyed me quickly. "Oh, I think I know why. Her phone is on silent." He laughed at my scowl, shoving me with his shoulder. "Don't worry, everything's fine. We skipped our run today and are thinking of where to go grab a bite." As if on cue, my stomach rumbled lowly, "Yeah, I'll bring her back home later. Enjoy your Sunday. Bye."

"So Bonnie—"

"Was worried about where you were. Did you leave all your clothes on the floor?" He raised an eyebrow but sounded amused.

"I couldn't find something to wear." I lied, feebly.

"Well, she thought something had happened. Anyway, she's doing something with Elena today. Told me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't sass me."

"I didn't say anything to sass you."

"Liar."

"Are we going to argue or are we going to eat?" He laughed, mussing my hair from the top as if I were a child.

Pouting, I resisted the urge to swat his hand away. "Agh—okay fine. What're you craving?"

"Don't have much cash on me. Something cheap?"

"I don't even know where my wallet is." I admitted. "Or if I even have any money…"

"How's my place?" He offered.

"Actually, let's do mine." I said, remembering all the food there was in Bonnie's kitchen, and could picture Matt's drastically empty one in comparison.

My jaw ticked, in annoyance. I didn't like not having full awareness of my body, I mean—who would? —but it irritated me how I kept seeing things I don't remember seeing. I had memories that weren't mine and felt such affection for this person who wasn't real.

I could feel a headache coming on, my temples beginning to throb. I wanted to scream and shove Matt and demand answers, but I couldn't. I couldn't. This is something I needed to play smart, something that could only be done if I wasn't such a mess. With a clear head and better grip on my emotions—I'd get what I needed. I just had to be stable.

Mouth full of food, a piece of pork chop on the end of his fork, and a look of heaven on his face—Matt Donovan was quite a sight. Here he was, up close, completely relaxed and enjoying what we cooked. His hair was messy with a few pieces of grass clinging to the ends, and it was such a soft sandy blonde color; I loved the way it shone in the light. The shape of his jaw had a hint of roundness gracing where the sharp edges should be. His skin was young and fresh—and his build, strong and lean but not bulky. He was around 16 years old, innocently eating his fill, not at all aware of the danger that would soon consume his life and the lives of those around him.

There was a part of me that was still hopeful I'd wake up where I belonged—one that wished this was something I could put behind me. It was all a weird dream I could tell my friends about and laugh off, dismissing the fear I had endured in it despite it feeling all too real. The longer I watched Matt, hungry and unafraid, worrying about his home life and how there wasn't enough food in the fridge for Vicki and him to eat, the sharper the pain in my chest seemed to become.

Was he real? He felt real, acted real, ate like a real person. His worn running shoes and old shirt were real. There seemed to be a gleam in his eyes only someone who was real, alive and breathing, could have. And I couldn't forget the blatant fact that I loved him. I really did. He seemed to love me, too. Seemed to want to spend time with me despite how little I offered him. And if I closed my eyes hard enough—if I let myself pretend that I really lived here, in Mystic Falls—I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him.

It was in the purely platonic sense, too, which made it only hurt more. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, I could see, feel—knew how easily it would be—to fall in love with him. But this went deeper than that—he was a brother, a friend, a father figure, a crucial part of me. I loved him. It was as simple as that.

And it hurt me, to have these emotions coursing through my veins while I still wasn't sure of what was happening. It hurt me, because I knew all of this without ever having been here before. I knew this even though I shouldn't. My feelings, my thoughts, my heart—all seemed to be split into two: the Sam that apparently grew up here in this fictitious town with fictitious people, and the Sam that grew up in California, watching the Vampire Diaries and falling in love for the first time with Damon Salvatore at age 10.

Though I was afraid, and rationally so, I knew that getting what I wanted wouldn't be achieved by just sitting here, eating away my pain. I was going to have to walk that fine line between curious and suspicious. Asking too many obvious questions wasn't an option; there had to be another way to coerce answers—something I could hold onto—from Matt. I glanced up just as he was reaching for a napkin, cheeks puffed up from how much food he had in his mouth, making him look like a chipmunk.

"You want more tortillas?" My tongue rolled the last word on habit, my accent making me pause briefly in surprise. It's not like I had forgotten my ethnicity, or that I was bilingual, but it seemed so foreign here, in this world. So out of place. But Matt smiled up at me warmly, nodding his head as he shoveled more food onto his plate, making me realize with a sinking feeling that he probably hadn't eaten breakfast—or dinner, for all I know. How bad was it, at home?

Putting more tortillas on the comal (1), I thought over possible lies to tell Matt, musing over which would cause the least amount of suspicion yet evoke the most answers.

"You know," I put my game face on, turning around and sitting back down. "I have this assignment for English. It's like this autobiographical essay on our childhood and how we grew up."

"When's it due?"

"Friday."

"How long does it have to be?" Sipping from his water, he peered at me curiously, the blue of his eyes so bright and open my breath caught in my throat for a moment.

"Minimum 4 pages, max 6." I shoved a forkful of rice into my mouth.

"Single or-"

I nodded. "Single spaced."

"What're you having trouble with?"

"Oh, you know, I'm getting a bunch of dates mixed up and my memory is a little foggy." I paused, watching Matt get up to flip the tortillas. "It's been such a long time."

"Are you really going to try to fit your entire childhood into this essay? Sounds like a lot of work, Sam."

"Yeah…I mean, I want the full grade. And this whole thing is just telling me I need to brush up on my past." I flinched into my mug, wondering if I was layering on the lie too thick.

"Well, you're not known for having the best memory." Matt chuckled, grabbing the tortillas, stacking them and then placing them under a cloth on the table between us, to keep them warm. "Do you want me to fill in the blanks?" He turned off the stove and sat down, digging into his food.

"Yeah, yeah. Not sure how to start, first of all. I don't even know what's my earliest memory. I mean— who does?"

"Yours was of your mom. When you were like three, I think. You mentioned something about the rain and hot chocolate."

"Um...?" I stopped mid-chew, staring at Matt with blatant surprise. "You, uh…you remember that?"

"Of course I do. I remember almost everything you tell me."

"Okay, fair enough." Jabbing at the beans on my plate absently, I pretended to be deep in thought. "Maybe this would be quicker if you just give me a summary of what I've told you. Rather than me having to go over what I remember and you trying to fill in the blanks."

I was smiling, but inside there was this sudden fear of being too transparent. It felt oddly as if this were a test, one I was about to fail.

"Sure. Let me think for a second." He slowed down his eating, tearing up pieces of tortilla and using it to scoop rice and beans into his mouth. "Actually, can I finish eating first?"

"Yeah. I'll start cleaning up."

Thirty minutes later, the dishes were clean, and the leftovers put in containers. Once everything was wiped down and back in its place, Matt lounged on the living room couch, groaning from how full he was. Notebook and pencil in hand, I sat on a chair beside him and tried to act casual and not too impatient.

"Alright." He hummed, interlacing his fingers over his stomach. "Sorry in advance if this is all over the place. I may have a better memory than you, but that doesn't mean I'm good at repeating it."

I cracked a smile, leaning against the arm rest of the chair. "You're doing me a favor. Just go for it."

Matt thought for a moment before speaking, lips pursed. "I'll start with your first memory. Again—you were three, I think. You were with your mom and it was raining. She was making you both hot chocolate, and your hands were cold. You just remembered the sound of the rain and the heat from the mug.

"Ah, moving past that. You were raised by your mom in California. She'd come out here to visit her sister—before she left—along with Bonnie, Sheila, and Rudy, because you're family, obviously. When you were six, your mom got sick. Her heart was weak. Sheila went and stayed with the both of you, until…until she passed away a few weeks later. Sheila got custody of you, because of your mom's will, and brought you over here to live with her. Once she noticed how close you and Bonnie were, and how you two started to depend on each other, she asked Rudy to let you move in. It worked out well, especially since a little while after he started to leave for long periods of time for work. So, it was just you and Bonnie. You two were attached at the hip, I swear." Matt laughed. "You met Caroline and Elena because of Bonnie. Tyler and I were later on, in school. You, uh, you started talking to me because you said you liked my smile. You had this, like, mission to befriend everyone who had a nice smile. You said I was the first person to fit the bill."

The paper was still blank, pencil hovering just centimeters away. "I was a weird kid, huh?" The words spilled from my lips easily, my eyes meeting his with amusement. "With a good eye, though. You still do have a lovely smile."

The light in the room was lessening, shadows moving across the walls in a slow crawl. It darkened half of Matt's face, yet his teeth were still visible, expression almost smug. "Do you remember—you made me a PB&J because of it. I think back then, you could somehow tell I was having it rough. So, we became friends. I'd do my best to smile more, and you'd bring me food."

"A fair trade, don't you think?" It frightened me, the ease in which I spoke without meaning to. It didn't feel like me—hell, I don't think it was me at all—yet, despite that disconnect, it was natural.

"Definitely. You made me look forward to school every day. Smiling was the least I could do."

Choking up, I hid a grin behind my hand. "You're a sap."

"Says the one who cried at my first football game."

I stuck my tongue out, pouting. Arms crossing over my chest, I managed to break the spell, "Continue."

Keeping my composure was difficult. I couldn't change my demeaner too much, or else it'd seem like I was having mood swings, and the last thing I needed was Matt thinking I was weirder than I already was. I had to just roll with however the hell my body reacted.

"Pretty much from then on it's just all of us growing up together. Do you want specifics, or…?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Everything helps."

"Well, alright, we're gonna be here a while." Laughing, Matt laid down on the couch, hands folded neatly on his stomach, pillow behind his head.

"So…let's see. Oh! I remember—okay, so there was this fair at school once…"

Settling deeper into the chair, my grip on the pencil unnecessarily tight, I began to write.

Steam clouded the bathroom, water practically scalding. My hands were flat against the tile, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut—but I didn't need to look to know my skin was red and irritated, hair plastered to my scalp, shoulders and neck. I was still processing everything Matt had told me, the sound of his voice insistent in the back of my mind. And despite my clear denial, despite my suspicion of him, I still nodded and smiled and dragged myself over here to think.

What he told me—it wasn't really the information I had been expecting. I thought I would get something concrete, something which tied into the real world or gave me a clue as to what to do or…or…something that wasn't what I got. But maybe regardless of what Matt said, I'd still be standing here, feeling tired, tired, and more tired.

"Fuck me." I shuddered out, voice obscured by the water. "Just my luck."

Stepping away from of the spray from the shower head, I sagged against the far wall, trembling for a moment as my skin tingled from the heat. There was a lot to think about, a lot that needed solving, but clearly something had to be done differently. Hearing my past retold to me—it didn't do much other than trigger those…weird reactions and further convince me that whatever was going on wasn't as simple as a "nightmare."

Hurrying up my shower as to not worry Matt, I wrapped myself in a towel and pulled the curtain aside. The mirror was fogged up, condensation coating the bathroom walls, counter and floor. As I leaned my weight onto the foot outside of the tub and raised the other to step fully out, something made a loud bang behind me. In my haste to turn around, I unceremoniously slipped. I caught a glimpse of the shampoo bottle I used laying in the tub right before I hit the wall next to me, falling too quickly for me to grab onto anything or even protect my face or head.

There was a moment of silence right before my thigh met the floor, followed swiftly by my arm, shoulder, and then forehead. The sound my body made slamming into the floor scared me more than the fall itself, until a sharp sting gripped my head painfully enough that a hiss escaped my lips. I rolled onto my side, towel somehow still around me, and pressed my hand against the newly tender spot on my face.

Laying there, with the awkward view of the bottom of the toilet and trashcan, it hit me—

Right before my vision darkened, memories flooded my head so quickly I lost my breath. Everything tunneled black for a split second…and then I could see.

My mom—my actual mom—helping me pack for our summer vacation to cousin Bonnie's house. Grams teaching me how to cook. Bonnie teaching me how to ride a bike. Having my knees scraped up and legs bruised. Crying when my pet turtle died. Some were snapshots, and others lingered for a few moments. But then—my mom passing away.

Confusion, confusion, Grams was there. I was crying and begging and kicking and screaming and where was my mom, where did she go? She promised she would take me out for a walk and and and—

The Virginia heat did nothing to make my chest feel any warmer. Grams couldn't do much, either. But Bonnie, Bonnie—she held my hand and let me cry and told me her mom left her too. It was different, she said. But it didn't matter. It hurt all the same.

Sleeping over, Bonnie sneaking in cookies and milk. Reading books together, coloring, seeing who could count the most stars. Moving in, decorating my room, befriending Caroline and Elena. Starting school, meeting Matt, liking his smile. It was gentle, sweet and made my chest thaw a little.

In another rush—Caroline painting my nails, Elena buying me a teddy bear for my birthday, punching Tyler in the face, letting Jeremy draw on me with a pen, trying on Vicki's clothes, teaching Matt how to cook, falling asleep in Bonnie's lap, Grams making me tea at one in the morning.

I gasped—a choked, pitiful sound. My vision went white, and I think I was crying. My shoulders were shaking so hard I couldn't seem to stop—and then there was Matt. I hadn't even heard the door open, hadn't even noticed that the loud thump thump thump was him banging on the door and not just my erratic heartbeat. He was warm and gentle and pulling me into a hug. But this only brought on another onslaught of tears, only made it harder to breathe. Because this had happened before, this had happened before—

And then finally—we were teenagers. Caroline took me shopping, Elena put makeup on me, Tyler and I gagged over the taste of beer, Jeremy and I discussed tattoos, I caught Vicki smoking a cigarette, Matt and I started working out together, Bonnie told me she liked a boy from school, Grams taught me how to take care of her garden.

I could see everything—feel everything. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might just shatter my ribs and fall onto the floor. For a moment I thought it did. But it was just air finally clawing its way down my throat, the burning in my chest distracting me from my thoughts which couldn't seem to shut the fuck up.

I stopped crying—thank god, I really needed to stop doing that—and instead had my face buried in Matt's chest, shirt fisted in my hands, encircled in his arms.

I wasn't crying anymore, and that was the first step, right? Maybe…maybe. I don't know. My body hurt from the fall. I felt so tired and annoyed at myself for something I couldn't even figure out, and I had lost my composure, once again. Matt probably thought I lost my mind. It's not like he was far off the mark, anyway.

"I'm sorry." I managed to grit out, suddenly aware that this entire situation had escalated more than it needed to, the bathroom door probably broken and Matt more worried than necessary.

"What're you apologizing for? Are you okay?" At my nod, he patted my back, trying to calm my tremors. "Don't worry, I got you." And with a tenderness I wouldn't have imagined him capable of, he rocked us back and forth, back and forth, until my quivering ceased, and my breathing was normal. The pain became a dull ache and goosebumps littered my skin; the towel offered me no warmth.

And once I was okay, once I stuttered out another apology and reassured Matt I was really fine, and it was just the shock of falling which made me react that way—him still not looking convinced but helping me stand—he guided me to my room and let me get dressed. The sun had started to set off in the distance, the shadows on the walls growing longer and longer as colors lost their spark. All the while, I weakly tried to put on clothes.

My wet hair stuck to my shirt and neck, the entire right side of my body throbbed, and everything felt woozy. The memories though—those were as clear as day. And what worried me more was that hitting my head had nothing to do with it. It was the laying on the bathroom floor that caused it.

Slumping down to the ground, at a weird angle, the shock finally wore off and I was too aware, too awake. I closed my eyes and hoped I could fall asleep. Only peace could be brought to me from that sweet oblivion. I stayed that way, until I finally dozed off, fragmented memories swimming in my head like a drug.

end author's note: (1) comal- a smooth, flat griddle typically used in Mexico, Central and parts of South America to cook tortilla, arepas, toast spices and nuts, sear meat, and generally prepare food.