New Again (Teen Wolf)

2 - Awake

        You know those moments when you wake up from a really deep sleep? Where you are confused for a second or two because you don't know what time it is or day? Well, amplify that by ten. My mind is groggy, yet everything is crisp. I remember riding with my parents to Beacon Hills and talking about getting a pizza when we got to our new home. I remember the crash. I remember some stranger named Scott pulling me out from the flipped car. He kept saying that he was going to save me, that he refused to let me die. 

        The foggy part of my brain is the part that is trying to figure out how I am in my new bedroom, buried under my beige comforter with ruffles at the end of it. My mind feels as if I have woken a deep slumber. Maybe I was just so tired that night, fell asleep in the car, and had that nightmare? Dad could have easily carried me up. 

        Slowly, I peel the comforter back off of my body, sitting up against the padded headboard. I slide up my sweatpants, that I don't remember changing into, up. There's no cuts in my skin from the glass, my leg isn't twisted in a painful direction. I swing my legs off of my bed, skipping to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. Aside from the messy bedhead, my hair is clean, free of blood and tiny pieces of shattered glass. 

        A laugh escapes from my parted lips. It was all a dream. I push my hair back, checking to see the smooth, flawless skin on my temple. That was the worst nightmare I have ever had. Everything had felt so real and I swore it was. I felt everything. 

        I open my first drawer in the bathroom, finding my hairbrush. I run it through my hair a few times, before heading downstairs, where the strong smell of coffee is coming from. Dad had showed me pictures of this house before we moved in, and I seem to remember where everything is. I expect to be greeted by the sound of the living room tv with the local news, but it's not on. My dad isn't even in the living room with his '#1 Dad' I got for him when I was ten. 

        I stroll through the wide opening in the wall to the kitchen. The strong scent of medium roast coffee with a hint of hazelnut hits me in the face and I can't help but breathe in deeply. My mother isn't standing in the kitchen, though. My cousin, Jordan, is sitting on one of the stools at the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand, head bent to focus on a pile of papers in front of him.

        "Jordan?" I call his name, coughing when I feel how dry my throat is. 

        Jordan's blonde head pops up at the sound of my face. "Dakota!" His mug is set down on the counter and he ditches the stool to rush to my side. One of his hands loop around my shoulders, leading me to the other stool. "Sit."

        I oblilage to his order. He opens the pantry, grabbing a room temperature and tossing it my way. I catch it, unable to unscrew the lid fast enough. The water is, like, seeing for the first time to a blind person. When was the last time I had anything to drink? I slam the nearly empty bottle of water down, smiling in content. 

        Jordan leans against the other side of the counter, an undescribale emotion in his eyes. "How do you feel?"

        My stomach rumbles, loudly. I laugh, "Hungry."

        His eyes squint a little, like he expected me to say something else. "Well, uh, I made pancakes before. I still have some batter left."

        "That works." I smile, appreciatively. 

        Jordan stares at me for a little bit longer. 

        "What?" I ask, not understanding why I'm being stared at like a lab experiment. 

        "Do you remember the past four days?" Jordan nonchalantly asks, reaching for the pancake batter behind him. He moves the griddle over to the counter we were both leaning on, plugging it into an outlet on the side of the counter.