Where am I?

That’s the first question that pops into my head as I return to my senses.

I feel cold.

I look down, and I see why: I’m lying on a slab.

I look up, and see lines of metal cabinets.

I see.

I’m in a morgue.

“Isaac?”

I recognize that voice. I look, and there he is: John, looking the same as ever.

Except he’s smiling.

And he’s holding a scalpel in his hand.

He must see my face, because he reaches for a syringe and immediately jabs it into me. The searing pain is drowned out by the intense feeling of… drowsiness…

Everything begins to fade.

I see his mouth move: 

“Don’t worry, old friend… it’ll all be better soon…”

Only… that’s not his voice.

All fades to black and I know nothing.

****

When I wake up again, I’m lying on a bed.

Or… was I not really awake then?

I take in my surroundings: an ordinary college student bedroom, adorned with a smattering of posters and polaroid photographs, a desk with a—

Wait.

I’ve been here before.

My feet hit the floor even before the realization sinks in. Why am I here? I have to get out, I have to—

But something looms before me, blocking my way out of the room.

A wicked, grinning thing.

And then it turns into John.

“Isaac,” he says with worry and surprise, “What are you doing here?”

I don’t know what to say. What am I doing here?

And what was I doing on his bed?

“I come home and I just… find you here? How did you even get in?”

I bite my lip.

“I… don’t know,” is my truthful answer. “I was outside, then I… woke up… here?”

But you didn’t wake up here, an obscure part of my mind practically screams. You woke up in a MORGUE.

No, I didn’t! That was just a dream!

John turns his head and looks at me funny. Shit. I must’ve been showing the internal argument on my face.

“…Isaac?”

“Uh, yes?”

“…are you saying you have no idea how you fell asleep on my bed?”

I nod. Does he believe me?

He hesitates, seeming to turn over the situation in his mind. Finally, he sighs profoundly.

“I get it. Grief can do strange things. You must’ve had some kind of episode, found the key under my doormat, let yourself in, and…”

He raises his hands, palms up. His expression says, you know the rest.

HE’S LYING

Shut up.

I nod. That must be it, I tell myself.

It’s got to be.

But then I remember.

“…why are you here, though?”

“What do you mean? It is my apartment.”

“No, I mean… you’ve been missing. For days.”

How many days? How long have you been here?

“Oh, right. Well…”

He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t really remember much from the past… several… days. I think my emotions just got the better of me— the same thing I think happened to you— and I woke up somewhere else not too long ago.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where did you wake up?”

“I…” he laughs at this, a nervous laugh. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Tell me.”

Again, he laughs. What is there to laugh about?

“Well… I woke up… in a girl’s bed.”

He looks at me with sympathy. His face says:

You get me, right?

But I don’t.

At all.

“Whose… bed?” I feel my mouth say without my consent.

“Oh, just this girl in my one of my classes. Susan Wren. I’d noticed her before, but I never thought…”

He smiles.

I don’t.

How is that okay?

And why was hearing that actually painful?

Lies sting

I blink to make the voice go away.

Lies sting, Isaac

“SHUT UP!”

Oh… shit.

I’m looking at him.

He’s looking at me.

And I just said that out loud.

He looks exactly what someone looks like when they’re trying not to show that they think you’re crazy.

“Uh… was it something I said?”

I flush.

“No, I… I just…”

Why did I do that?

I seize my first instinct and push past him, embarrassment colouring my cheeks. Then I’m out in the hallway, shutting the door behind me, breathing hard…

Why did I do that?

I chide myself in my head and run away before John can come after me.

The voice is quiet now.