A Slave to Love

Chapter 4: Waking Up

"Kiana? Thank God!" 

I pried my eyes open, cringing at the person's loud voice. My head throbbed like a drum beating and any noise at all, no matter how quiet, sounded like a gunshot.

"Lower your voice," I whispered pathetically.

"Sorry, honey," my mother whispered, "I was so worried about you, where have you been?"

"Been?" I asked groggily, leaving my eyes open just a crack as I was too tired to open them more.

"This week? Where have you been this week?"

"Home?" My brain was so foggy that it took me a moment to understand what she was saying; it was as if she was speaking French, a language I could understand but one that took me a few moments to comprehend, to mentally translate.

"No, you haven't," she said, touching my forehead as worry crossed her tired face. "Friday night you went out partying and your friends said you left early and walked home but you never showed up."

I remembered walking home that night...but I couldn't remember actually making it home. 

"You've been gone all week, we couldn't find you," she said, face crumpling. She looked exhausted and pale. I hadn't seen her like this since my dad had passed away. "We thought someone had kidnapped you. We thought you were dead, Kiana," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said weakly, still feeling slightly detached from my body, not fully comprehending the situation or what she was saying. It just didn't make sense. I was home. I made it back. So everything was fine, wasn't it?

"What happened to you? Where were you all this time?" she asked, covering her mouth to stifle her crying.

I paused, trying to remember what happened this week. But I didn't understand...today was Saturday. Wouldn't that mean I went out last night and that I came home this morning?

I groaned as my head started to pound even more.

"What day is it?" I asked, pulling my covers up to my ears as if that would protect me from the misery of my hangover and trying to figure out what stupid drunk things I did.

"June twenty second," she said, pulling away, "You've been out cold since you showed up in your room last night."

"Twenty second? That's not possible, today has to be the eighteenth."

"No, it's the twenty second," she said, eyeing me warily, "Don't you remember anything that happened?"

"No," I whispered.

"I'm taking you to the hospital, then the police station," she said firmly, wiping her tears. She was a mom on a mission; there was no time for crying now. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs." Then she left my room, closing the door behind her.

I lay there for a moment, not moving, but it wouldn't be long before Mom came back here to check on me and get me moving. So I took a deep breath--throat aching at the move--and sat up, taking a slow look around my room. The same dark red walls, bulletin board with whole bunch of pictures crammed together of my friends and family, my dresser, my bed, my desk with my outdated PC on it and a bunch of papers and clothes scattered all around the place.

Carefully, I slid off the bed, nearly falling over when I stood up. I caught myself, putting a hand to my head as it spun and pounded in protest.

I stumbled to my dresser, grabbed a random pair of shorts and a Batman t-shirt that was scrunched up at the top of my drawer from when I'd lazily thrown my clean laundry in. I stared at the logo, not sure why it seemed to ring so familiarly in my mind, then gave up as my headache was making it too hard to think. Unfortunately, as I changed clothes I saw two things that made my jaw drop.