She awoke slowly. Sleepy eyes opened to? nothing. Pitch black. No sounds. She lay still as the dead
(undead)
trying to determine where she was. She could hear again, noises? first steady and rhythmic, then quickening to a terrifying pace.
(Drums, Primitive, Frenzied)
Her heart. She realized it was her heart, a panic attack was sending echoing pulse after pulse ricocheting in her head.
One, two? no three or more. Hundreds. Her heart and others. It was chaotic and overwhelming. Her heart? running? stalked like prey.
Overdosed. She had overdosed? one too many lines, one too many times.
(NO!)
She tried to move, gingerly? timidly. As if one false twist would cause the very walls of her labored heart to burst.
Restrained. Held.
She flexed her wrists, waiting for the pain, waiting to see if she?d brought those tattoos to life in the midst of a binge.
Nothing there.
(Everything?s here.)
She was still once more. The weight of the restraint across her chest seemed to slow the panicked breathing. Still. Be still.
Sleeping. She?d only been sleeping. Not a hospital. A hospital ward
(psych ward)
would echo wails and cries through its halls. This was only silence. The silence of the
(grave)
night.
She struggled through the fog, fighting for
(her life)
clarity. Remember, remember, remember. She must remember.
The wind? the rumbling? flashes of light. Thunderstorm? No, no? that wasn?t right. The bike! V-Twin engine . 1573 cc?s. Chain drive. Stolen
(kisses)
right out from under him. The lightning had only been in his eyes. A flash of anger, or ? something? something else.
Restraints? embrace?. restraints? embrace? embrace.

Quiet again. Strangely calm.

She turned her face, burying it into his neck as he slept.
Devil or Angel? Heaven or Hell?

Limbo for now.

She slept.