In a heartbeat, I was awake.
Then I blinked.
My eyes moved across the dim room. Band posters on the wall. Books stacked crooked with sticky notes hanging from the pages. Papers from old assignments spilled across the desk and floor like I'd left in a rush and meant to come back.
It was my room.
Not a version of it. Not close enough to trick me.
My room.
And the worst part was how normal it felt.
I swung my legs off the bed and sat there for a second, breathing hard through my nose. My chest hurt like I'd sprinted upstairs. I ran a hand through my hair. It came back clean. No blood. No dirt. No sweat slicked into knots.
I stood and looked in the mirror.
A tired face stared back. But clean. Young. No cuts worth noticing. No hollow look in the eyes yet. Just some Highschool senior who needed sleep. Boxer shorts. A wrinkled shirt from sleeping in it.
I looked healthy.
I hated that immediately.
Then I smelled it.
Food downstairs.
