You know that gross, groggy feeling you get in your throat and behind your eyes after sleeping for too long? Multiply that by about a thousand. Mix in a bit of confusion, with a dash of thelightthelightitburnsss and voila! Here you are.
But...where exactly is here? And how exactly did you get here?
You remember...school. Ugh. Leaning out the window, preparing to drop an egg encased in green floral foam and duct tape. I’d better get that extra credit. Ah, jeez, focus, (Y/N), focus. Mikey Davis pushing you as a joke. The momentum taking you a little too far. Trying and failing to grab at the window sill, and then -
I am so going to kill Mikey.
Unless you’re already dead. The thought alarms you less than it should - at least you don’t ever have to worry about ever taking the MCAT, ever. On the downside, you’d never have the chance to become a doctor, now, either…
“Are you planning on waking up sometime this century? I’m on a bit of a schedule.”
You struggle to open your eyes against the artificial lights, and see a man (a very good looking man, in spite of your pounding head and blurry vision) staring at you from the front seat of a car. I’m in a car? You follow his gaze to your right hand, in which is clutched some money - is that American? That doesn’t look American - and hand it to him questioningly. He accepts. “Thank you, Miss.” He’s British. Or Australian. No, Irish?
You shake your head a few times, trying to blink the sleep out of your brain, and somehow find the energy to smile. “Thank you.” He nods. It takes you a minute to realize he’s probably waiting for you to get out of the car. Taxi, then. You drag yourself across the seat to the door, stumble out onto the pavement, and all of a sudden you feel the tiredness slip off of you, like a snake shedding its skin.
You’re in some kind of city, that much is clear. It’s nighttime, and you’re standing on a sidewalk, and you you you
You try to take a step forward, but there’s something, no someone, in front of you and you can’t see straight and you stumble into them black hair black coat black night black vision and then -
The first thing you notice when you wake up again is that it’s morning. The second is that the headache is gone - you can open your eyes without wanting to cry. That being said, your now normal vision allows you to notice one third, crucial piece of information: this is not your bed. Or your room. Probably not your house, either. And the taxi driver sounded British or something - are you even in the right country?
Taxi driver. He looked...oddly familiar...
The memories of what you can only assume to be last night swirl around your skull, a whirlpool trying to suffocate your thoughts. Egg drop - me drop - taxi - stranger - here. You hope you weren’t “rescued” by an ax murderer. That would really, really suck.
Breathe, (Y/N). You’re thoughts are moving faster than you can follow, making it difficult for you to assess the situation logically. I don’t know what happened between falling out that window and waking up in the taxi, so skip that. Clearly, I fell into someone after I got out. Clearly, I blacked out. Clearly, they brought me up here. That’s my phone on the nightstand, right? You grab it, letting out a sigh of relief when it accepts your passcode. Good. No service, though, or unlocked wifi - not so good. They left me on the bed, so hopefully they aren’t going to try to kill me -
“Oh, you’re awake!"