Opening my eyes I look up and see stars high above, they're blurred and I rub my hands across my eyes, trying to focus. I feel cold, chilled by the wind that glides across my face. So I cup my hands over my nose and mouth, blowing into them to warm up my skin. It's when I do that I notice my wrists, how they're circled with scabbed grazes -- a bracelet round each wrist, red and angry looking. They should hurt; but don't, and it's that fact that kick starts my brain into actually working.
Moving my head a little I look left, dismayed when all I can see is trees, huge trees that seem to reach into the sky, branches bare as they tower over me. The wind makes the smallest branches shake, and I shiver at the desolate whistling noise that's created -- low and mournful. Summoning the energy to move my head, which seems weighted to the earth, I look to the right, only to see more trees, more branches that dance against the dark sky. I'm alone -- in what looks like a wood -- and have no idea how I got there.
Closing my eyes against the trees that seem to loom over me, I force myself to think, to remember and my hands shake a little as flashes of memory flit through my brain. The smell of pizza, and songs on the radio, then bright lights that dazzled my eyes as a truck appeared behind my car. After, things are confused. I remember the bite of the seat belt on my chest as I was shunted forward. I remember cursing and trying to remember the extreme driving course I'd attended. I remember the way my car flipped through the air, landing on its wheels in a ditch. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth as I gasped for breath and the sound of muffled footsteps outside. I remember -- nothing after that.
I want to panic, to shout and scream for help. Having a memory black out scares me, but I force it down. I know it's usual to forget traumatic incidents, I've told Jim that enough. But knowing doesn't make it less scary. But I won't let the fear rule me, not now.
Willing my body to obey, I put my hands flat on the ground, grimacing as tiny rocks dig into my palms. Arms shaking I haul myself upright until I'm sitting, then shuffle back until I'm resting against a tree, letting my head fall back against its rough bark as I fight against the black spots that swim across my vision.
Just moving has exhausted me and I know I'm going nowhere on my own tonight. I'll have to stay in this spot, with the trees that moan and whistle and dance --and the wind that conducts it all. If Jim was here I'd ask what he could see, could hear. Could he see shooting stars flashing across the dark sky? Could be hear the night creatures hunt? But he's not here and I'm alone.
Tucking my hands into my pockets I'm thankful I still have my thick coat on. Can burrow into it's warmth as the numbness starts to leave my body and a thousand tiny hurts start to make themselves known. The burn round my wrists, an ache in my stomach, even my feet throb and I run a finger gingerly under the top of my boot, unsurprised to find a ring of scabs that matched my wrists.
I'm cold, in pain and fear is kept away with only the flimsiest barrier. I want to go home to the loft. I want to drink hot chocolate and have a shower and pull the covers over my head in my own bed. I want to take off these clothes that are stained and smell; I want painkillers and bandages. But most of all I want Jim.
The longing is almost tangible, and for a fleeting second I can see him standing on the balcony, looking over his city. He looks drained, pale faced with deep shadows under his eyes, but he also looks solid -- safe-- and I can't stop reaching out a hand despite knowing he's nothing but an illusion.
An illusion that disappears as my hand nears, so I let my hand drop and look up into the sky once more, fighting against the fear that rears in my mind. But I can let it win, so start to Match the fuzzy stars above to the constellations that I'd seen through Jim's telescope at the loft. I think I'm south of Cascade, I don't know how far south, but at least in the morning I'll have a direction to move in. And I will move, even if I have to crawl every torturous mile. I don't know how long I've been gone, but it's been too long -- I want to go home.