Horrid Thoughts with Hard Questions

I remember that I had gone to sleep after Adrian disappeared. It feels like I slept for hours on end. No one ever came to wake me.

After I do wake up, I find myself sitting upright in bed, looking at my hands, or I suppose I am. The situation that I've found myself in is so surreal and unbelievable that I can't comprehend much of anything.

I don't even know what to think right now. I can't see. I can't hear. Maybe I'm dead? Or I went into a coma or something. That wouldn't be a very logical conclusion, though...How would I be sitting upright if I were in a coma? Better yet, how would I even know I was looking at my hands?

These thoughts lead me to ponder what it's like to be in a coma. For some reason, I think it would be like drowning in a way. I picture my lungs filling up with water progressively over time, and if they completely fill up, I'll die and sink to the bottom of the ocean.

These foolish thoughts slide so easily onto the blank slate that is my brain. It's quite strange, really. Subconsciously, I know I should be freaked out, and thinking about my well-being, but all I can think about is drowning and comas, neither of which are relevant to me.

In a state of unfeeling, I pull myself off the bed numbly, and drag my feet across the cold wooden floor to the bathroom across the hall.

The bathroom mirror looks at me with dirty, red hair and dark brown eyes that seem familiar. Are those my eyes? I wonder. They look way older than mine do. Is that my hair? It's so much longer and duller than mine is...

The eyes scan my face as I scan the mirror's face. Bruises are fresh and unevenly placed. I look lower, to the neck; the eyes follow my gaze perfectly.

A clear thumb shaped bruise is visible on either side. I lift my hands to match the prints that are also on my neck. An indescribable sound leaves my lips once I feel scratches near the nape. The mirror turns its head to reveal little red crescent shaped marks lining its neck, some worse than others.

I see a tear roll down the mirror's face, just as I feel a trail of wetness go down my cheek. It dawns on me that I'm this person in the mirror. I'm this beat up, worthless thing in front of me, that is staring at me with a broken look.

That's me.

My knees feel weak and I catch a glance of the mirror image tumbling down just before my tailbone collides with the floor, which sends a jarring shock up my spine. A sob catches in my throat, and I cough.

Hurried footsteps are coming down the hall towards the bathroom door. I should get up, and pretend nothing is wrong, but I can't seem to find the strength to do so. An oh-so-familiar voice calls my name, and I try to compose myself quietly so she won't know I'm here.

A knock comes. "Lizzy...?"

Another knock. "Lizzy, are you in there?"

Two hurried knocks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm coming in." The doorknob turns.