I feel myself floating through darkness. When I start becoming aware again, the searing pain on my neck is white-hot, nonstop, too much to bear. Is this it? I think. Is this how I die?
I can’t hear anything beyond my own heartbeat. Maybe the creature is gone? I try to reach my hands up to my neck, but I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes. I almost want the darkness to take me again, anything to escape this pain, this exhausted weakness.
Suddenly, I feel two strong arms lift me off the sidewalk. I’m being held, bridal style. A voice says something I can’t quite hear. But it’s too much effort to open my eyes or to ask what was said. The arms holding me are warm, powerful. Like holding me is effortless. I can feel the bulge of muscle in their arms, pressing into my body as they carry me. My rescuer begins walking, and I lean my head on their chest.
It’s almost like I’m outside myself—my thoughts floating in and out of the blackness. At some point, I feel myself being passed to someone else, another warm, strong set of arms cradling me. More words are exchanged, hushed whispers that I can’t hear well enough to understand. Then I can feel movement again, this new set of muscular arms walking me to some unknown destination. I relax into their body.
But as time goes on, I slowly become more aware.
Where am I going? I think. What if this isn’t my savior? What if it’s another attacker, bringing me somewhere to finish me off?
Rage and terror quickly fill my body. I will myself to move, to kick and scream. But at the smallest attempt at movement, the pain in my neck intensifies, sending sharp stabs of agony throughout my body. I’m suddenly aware of the sticky wetness of my blood running down my chest, dripping onto the ground. I don’t know if I’d even be able to stand up, let alone fight someone off. I try to scream again, but all that comes out is a moan of anguish.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers. “You’ll be okay.” It’s a male voice, deep and quiet. There’s something authoritative in the low syllables. I can feel this person’s words rumbling in their chest as they pick up speed. Their jostling carry shoots another stab of pain through my throat, and I moan again.
“Almost there,” the voice says.
Something about the calm warmth of these words confuses me. Why would my attacker want to comfort me? Shouldn’t I be terrified of this voice? But I’m not. I feel safe…I have the sensation of being taken care of. But who is this? Where’s my attacker? My thoughts begin racing. But the pain in my body is too much. It’s only a matter of time before I slip back out of consciousness.
The next time I come to, I can hear sirens nearby. My back is cold, and I realize I’m lying on the hard ground. I manage to open my eyes slowly. A pair of piercing hazel eyes are staring back at me, inches away from my face.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispers again. I recognize his voice.
Then he’s gone. I’m freezing, my body shivering violently. My spasms flood my neck with pain again, threatening to drag me under. Finally, I stop fighting it. I close my eyes just as I see feet running toward me, voices speaking urgently to each other.
I don’t know how much time has passed by the time my eyelids flutter open. I can hear a rhythmic beep beep beep coming from somewhere nearby. There are fluorescent lights above my head. As my surroundings slowly come into focus, I realize that I’m in a hospital room. The person who was carrying me earlier (the two people? Did I imagine that?) must have brought me here. There are no doctors or nurses anywhere in sight. I have no idea what time it is.
Suddenly, the details of the night come rushing back to me. In a panic, I lift my hands to my neck. But the gash in my throat is gone. I move my fingers over my jaw, the sides of my throat, down to my collarbones. There’s nothing. No stitches, no scar, no bandage. Now that I notice it, I don’t feel any trace of the pain that had tortured me.
In fact, I feel…totally fine. A little disoriented maybe, but strong. Energized, even. I don’t understand. Was last night a dream? Some kind of hallucination?
I look around the room and see my torn and bloody clothes draped over a hospital chair. So it must have been real. What was that thing that attacked me? And if it really attacked me, where’s the proof? Why don’t I have any injuries?
“You’re awake!” a voice says. I glance up to see a nurse walking toward my bed. She glances at the screen next to me for a moment. I follow her gaze and see a series of numbers, lines…my vital signs. The nurse smiles at me. “Glad to see you’re doing okay. I’ll go get the doctor.”
She turns to leave but stops when I yell, “Wait!” I can’t keep the urgency out of my voice. “What happened to me?” I ask.
The nurse turns to me and sighs. “We’re not sure,” she says. “Someone dropped you off at the door to the ER and left. It looked like you had been attacked. There was blood all over your clothes, but when we examined you, we couldn’t find any injuries. You were unconscious, though, so we kept you here for observation.”
“But I was attacked,” I say, shaking my head. “I was injured. My throat…” My voice trails off in confusion.
The nurse gives me an apologetic smile. “I know this might be confusing. But you can ask the doctor any questions you might have. Let me go get her.”
“But the blood on my clothes… Why don’t I have any wounds?” I ask.
The nurse pauses before she answers. “I don’t know,” she says. Another pause. “After you talk to the doctor, we’ll have you talk to the police.”
I stare at her.
“You’re not in trouble. We just want to make sure you’re okay,” she says. When I don’t answer, she steps toward the door again. “I’ll be right back,” she says, her smile not quite as warm this time.
As soon as she’s out of sight, panic floods me. I can’t deal with the police, I think. They might think they’re helping, but nothing good ever comes from dealing with the system. I should know…
A handful of childhood memories float to the surface of my mind, and bitterness floods me. I push the memories away. I reach up to touch my neck again. Not even a trace of the attack left. No evidence of anything gone wrong.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I take out the IV out of my arm and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I wait for dizziness or weakness to overtake me, but I feel strong. When I stand up, my legs are powerful beneath me. I glance down at my hospital gown, then over at my bloodied clothes. I can’t leave wearing either of those options. I start rushing around the room, opening drawers and cupboards.
Finally, I find a pair of scrubs and throw them on. My shoes and purse are sitting on the ground next to my clothes, so I grab both and poke my head out of the room. I don’t know how much time I have.
The coast is clear for now—the hallway is empty. I start walking, looking for an exit, but within minutes, I hear footsteps around the corner. I glance up and see a stairwell sign and rush toward it. I fly down the stairs, my footsteps echoing down two flights. I know hospital staff will stop me if they see me, but I don’t want to talk to them or the police or anyone else. I don’t stop running until I hit the cold October air outside. The rain has stopped, but it’s still dark out.
I look around me, trying to get my bearings. About a block away, I see a bus stop. I hurry toward it, sighing with relief when the bus pulls up only moments later. I get on, not even caring where it’s going. Once in my seat, I try to breathe. I replay the night, trying to figure out what actually happened. The city flies by, the roads still slick with rainwater from the storm earlier. I can’t make sense of anything.
It only takes one bus transfer for me to make it home. I fumble for my keys, relieved to find them still in my purse. I turn the doorknob to my apartment.
The moment I enter, a sharp voice says, “Where the fuck have you been?”
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