Betwixt

I turn to take in my surroundings and feel a sharp pain sear down my neck.

"Ahhh."

It's like someone has mistaken my head for a nail. The hammer swings pound my brain in a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What is going on?

Okay, just stop and think. You were with Trent, the scum bag who is cheating on you.

Man, that stings. It's totally not important to my situation right now, but it still stings... real bad. My boyfriend is cheating on me with Julie Peters. Images of his hands and lips on my skin massacre my brain. How many girls had I been sharing those lips with? I feel sick. Instant tears line my lashes. I shake my head to ward them off. Not the world's best idea.

The pain pulses with a vengeance, forcing me back to reality. At least I think it's reality.

With slow movements, I investigate the origin of my headache. There's a large lump on the back of my head. It's soft and mushy, making me grimace. Is my hair wet?

I pull my hand away and notice red liquid on my fingertips.

Blood?

I'm bleeding.

I jerk at the realization and scream.

The left side of my body feels as though it's been pounded with a ball pein hammer. I use my right hand to do a quick assessment. My arm is killing me. I don't want to touch it, but force myself to feel around the area. My elbow is swollen and throbbing. I try to move it again, but the pain is excruciating.

I lie still as panicked breaths punch through my system. I am on the verge of an all out cry-fest. I can feel myself losing it. If I don't pull it together, panic is soon going to rob me of all common sense.

Who gives a shit about common sense? I'm freaking out here!

"Just stop."

The words wisp out through my parched lips. My brain is fighting for control, forcing my emotions to settle.

"Stop."

I repeat myself another ten times, until my breathing returns to a normal pattern.

"Now think." I can hear my father's voice in my head. Whenever I got angry as a kid, he would say, "Stop. Breathe. Think. Now what's the best way to handle this?"

It used to bug the hell out of me. He hadn't said it in a really long time. It's surprising how comforting the memory is.

"Stop." Done that.

"Breathe." Done that.

"Think." Okay, think.

How did I get here? How did this happen?

An image of me tumbling down an embankment sparks in my brain. I carefully turn my head to look up the steep slope. I am surrounded by pine trees. Daylight struggles to reach me through the thick branches, but I am still lying on a bed of dappled light.

I'm afraid to move, but lift my head to get a better idea of what might be up the hill.

It achieves nothing but pain.

I can't see where I am. I have no idea what's up or down.

All I know is that I hurt.

I really, really hurt.

And is that puke I smell? I glance to my right and notice a patch of grossness near my head. Ewwww! Why was I puking? Did I get totally plastered and fall down this hill or something? Why didn't someone help me? Did my friends just laugh and walk away, leaving my completely alone?

Alone.

I am totally alone.

Panic rises with cruel swiftness.

"No. Stop. Breathe. Think." I can hear the desperation in my voice and my next words can barely make it out past my tears. "What's the best way to handle this?"

The sobs make my belly quiver. I brush my tears away and yell, "I have no idea!! Help me! Someone help me!"

I scream until my voice is hoarse. The birds have gone quiet and now I'm left with nothing.

Hopelessness engulfs me, but my brain won't let it win. I can still hear Dad's words repeating over and over like a mantra.

I try once more.

Stop. Breathe. Think.

I want my mom.

No. Nicole! Stop! Breathe! Think!

I push my childish wishes aside and accept the fact I'm alone. The feeling's not new, but that doesn't stop my heart from burning.

Think. Think, Nicole.

I breathe in slowly through my nostrils and let the air whoosh free.

Think.

Okay, so my arm's screwed, but I can still use my right hand. Maybe I can drag myself up the hill and see if there is any civilization nearby.

I twist my body, ready to execute my brilliant plan when a pain fires up from my knee. It is so intense, stars appear in rapid succession, followed by a black haze. Before I know what's happening, I'm standing in my living room staring at that hideous pine tree.

"Yes, hi. It's Mrs. Tepper here, Nicole's mother."

Mom.

I scoot around the couch and make a beeline for the kitchen, following her voice like a lifeline.

"Mom. Thank God."

She is looking at her feet as she circles the counter, nodding her head.

"Yes, but has she come into school today?"

"Mom." I stand in her way and wave my arms, but she can't see me.

"No? Okay, thank you."

Dammit! Am I a ghost? Have I died already?

No, I can't have. It was like this this morning. It all feels the same. Maybe my mind's left my body. Maybe I'm caught in this weird sub-reality, half-dead half-alive.

A shiver races down my spine. Half-dead... and probably not that far off fully dead unless I find help.

"Mom!" I wave my arms more frantically, but she just nods her head and looks through me.

"Yes, I understand, but can you please contact me if anyone sees her?"

Wow, she actually looks worried.

"Thank you." Mom hangs up the phone and fidgets with her earring. Her eyes have that glassy sheen to them as she stares at the counter. She's clearly in zombie mode and she only tends to do that when she's concentrating really hard or simply doesn't know what to do.

"Mom." I stand right next to her. Maybe if I'm super close she'll be able to hear me. "It's me. It's Nicole. I need your help. You have to find me. I'm hurt. I don't know where I am or what's happened to me, but I need you to keep trying. Please, call someone else."

I reach for the phone and my fingers pass straight through it.

Gross!

So not loving the ghost thing.

"Mom, please." My voice quivers.

She snaps out of her reverie and walks to the coffee machine. Flipping up the lid, she lets out a sigh and dumps the dregs into the trash can. Grabbing a fresh filter, she pops it in the top and reaches for the coffee.

The phone stops her. She forces a smile and presses the answer button, making sure it's on speaker phone so she can keep moving around the kitchen.

"Hey, where are you right now?"

"Dad! Can you hear me?" I know it's pointless, but yell it anyway.

Mom's filling up the glass jug with water, so calls over her shoulder, "I came home."

"I thought you didn't have a moment spare today?"

"I don't, thanks to Jackie A. Man, that woman is so demanding... such a pain in the ass."

My father chuckles. "Why are you home then?"

She empties the water into the top then slots the jug into the machine with force and presses the ON button.

"I just wanted to see if Nicky was here. I thought maybe she was playing hooky again and just waiting until I left before surfacing."

Mom knew I played hooky? Yikes, I didn't know that. Why has she never said anything? I feel my spirit deflate. I don't want to answer that question.

"Look, honey, I know you're worried, but I'm sure she's fine."

"She's not fine, Mitchell." Her fingers tap on the counter as she waits for her coffee to percolate. "I know she gets home at all hours, I know she probably gets up to mischief with her friends, I know she's dating some loser... what's his name, Brent or something? But she always comes home. She's always here in the morning."