"Amy, I want you to tell me the truth," my dad said. "What is the last thing you remember?"
"I went to sleep," I said slowly, wanting it to sink through his thick skull and that of everyone else in the room. "Then I didn't wake up. I tried, but I couldn't."
"Your friends said that the last time they saw you was when you were with that boy," he said stiffly. "Cas."
Castiel…I formed the name without saying it. I missed him so much."
"Sweetheart, did he hurt you?" my mother asked. "I know boys these days have access to drugs and all sorts of horrible things."
"He didn't do anything bad," I said defensively. "I…I just left the party when things got too rough. I went to sleep and didn't wake up. That's it."
"Well everything is normal now," said the nurse. "There was no sign of why it happened, but Doctor Morgan believes it won't happen again. You'll be free to go within an hour."
And I would be freed of her and her cheerfulness. I was given my normal people clothes and my family drove me home. My room was as clean as I remember it. As normal. It reminded me of Cas's room. My mother had obviously gone through it and cleaned everything up. No picture out of line, not a single wrinkle on the bed. I fell on top of it, wanting nothing more than to sleep and fall back into my bliss of a coma.
* * *
I stayed home for six months after my coma. I had six appointments every day—all of them house calls. A nurse in the morning, fitness trainer, three tutors to catch me up in school, and the nurse again at night. After three months, the nurse handed me my bill of health and left me alone. Three months later, the tutors had me caught up and the trainer left with them. All that left me with three weeks of summer vacation before school began.
But when it did come, things only got more depressing. In my first class, I made sure to sit in the very back of the class but I could still hear the whispers from the front. Angie was supposed to be my friend. Apparently six months is a long time for change.
"Hey," whispered a boy I had never seen before. "What's with the depressing chick?"
Angie looked back, trying to be subtle and failing miserably.
"Her boyfriend left town and she had a freaking mental breakdown. She just got out of a coma."
"Wow…no guy's gonna want that pressure."
"Tell me about it. The girl's a nutcase."
I couldn't stay angry at Angie. I wasn't feeling all that much emotion lately. But after six months of blah, I wasn't too suspicious. I was actually beginning to wonder if that annoying nurse had been right. That everything was just a dream. But my parents had mentioned Cas…while I was drugged up. I needed proof. A reminder. The packaging could have been better, but I got what I wanted after school.
I was walking to my car—the consolation present for all I had been through. Keeping Cas's stories in mind, I specifically requested a '67 Chevy Impala. But of course it went through my dad's 'guy' and became a uel efficient money saver. So much for escaping to the soft purr of my baby's engine.
One of the guys from the football team ran up to me. He was never a good friend of mine. In fact, we had a constant game of insulting each other.
"Hey, veggie," he said, punching me on the shoulder with all the strength I knew he could pack. I hardly had to make an effort to keep a straight face.
"What do you want, Josh?" I demanded.
"Is it true you almost died because that Cas dude broke your heart?" he asked with zealous.
There's my proof.
"Shove it," I spat.
"Because I heard that the freak took advantage of you and skipped town."
And that was too much. I spun around and kicked him in the sweet spot so that he bent over, screaming in agony.
"I thought I told you to shove it, Josh!"
I ran to my car and locked myself inside. I took calming breaths, knowing I would have to explain to someone why I assaulted a peer. Josh always was a whiny jerk when it came to damaging his ego.
Looking up I saw that the sky was cloudy. Any second it was going to rain. I leaned my head back against the seat, remembering all I could of heaven. I had always had a powerful imagination which is probably why it was so easy to convince my mind that I was experiencing it all again. I was walking through the moonlit halls of the hideout with my dearest Claire still attached to me.
I was shaken awake by a strange man in a police uniform.
"What's going on?" I demanded angrily of the man who had so rudely torn me from my happy place.
"Amy, we've been searching everywhere!" he exclaimed.
"What time is it?"
"Three in the morning. Your parents have been really worried."
"I fell asleep," I shrugged.
"No, we've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. We're taking you to the hospital."
"Sheriff, I'm fine," I argued.
"Not my call. It's your mother's. Now let's go."
Despite my constant protesting, they drove me to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. I tried to explain at length how I just didn't want to wake up. After the doctor ran a few hours of tests, he released me with a warning to be careful. But I had my drug…I wasn't going to give it up that easily.
* * *
I held up on thinking about heaven for the rest of the week, but on Friday night I told my family that I would be staying up late so I had an excuse to sleep in. I escaped to my dream world and stayed there as long as I possibly could until my mother forcefully woke me up late into the next evening. I went there as often as I could, having discovered that I was hopelessly addicted. My parents and friends grew worried when they theorized that my mini-comas were self inflicted. I didn't care.
For months, I continued my extracurricular activities, learning to sink further and further into my mind and eventually how to drag myself out. That way the worry went away and I didn't wake up kicking and screaming. It was like repeatedly going from a baking desert to the North Pole in an instant in the most painful process, but I couldn't get enough of it. I would be damned if I ever considered stopping.
