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The smell of hospitals and mint essential oil.
The gradual return of my physical body to reality.
My name is Ava Nash. Twenty-one years old. I love classical music and reading scandalous bodice ripper novels. I watch cheesy rom-coms or true crime documentaries—nothing in between. I’m kind of obsessed with the color pink, can eat candy floss for days, can’t get enough of salted caramel popcorn, and can survive on smoothies as long as they have strawberries in them.
Like every time I get my episodes, I repeat the usual mantra I taught myself. It’s my attempt to prove my existence to the shadowy version of myself.
The version that seems to forget the entire world and succumbs to frightening numbness for extended periods of time.
I breathe steadily as the remnants of the fog clear and I wiggle my toes. It’s a habit I picked up to ensure I’m here. In the present.
My other self doesn’t have the capacity to wiggle my toes. I watched some security footage from our house once. I look robotic when I’m in that state, too stiff, too emotionless.
Too lost.
The feel of my body returns in small increments and that’s when I sense that my right hand is warm.
Toowarm.
I try to crane my head to the side, and the rustling of the pillow fills the quiet space.
“Ava?”
Deep, rough notes penetrate my foggy brain, and I find it hard to remember to breathe properly.
Eli’s cradling my hand between both of his as he stares at me from the chair at my bedside.
I thought I already woke up.
Is this another episode—or, worse, a nightmare?
I swallow, but the ball constricts my throat. So I wiggle my toes again and, yup, still moving. This is real.
How…
I stare at Eli’s brutally handsome face as if it’ll explode with answers for his bizarre existence in my vicinity.
For some reason, he looks older than when I saw him earlier. Slight stubble covers his harsh jawline, and his hair is longer, disheveled, and finger-raked. He appears to be a bit tired as well, his lips absent of some of their color, as if he’s suffering from a cold.
Wait.
Can hair grow in the span of a few hours?
A day?
Two?
I narrow my eyes, trying to remember the last thing that happened. I was going to an after-party with Ollie, Raj, and the others, but then…I…
A car without headlights.
Calling 999.
Blinding lights.
A lorry.
A crash.
