The tinge of red settled and dried in the crevices of Mom's broad nose and around her eyelids. Looking at her reminded me of my own features, and it was then that I realized we shared similar traits.

I remembered others comparing our physical appearance, and me taking pride in what she passed down to me. However, pain wouldn't allow me to reminisce too long.

A quiver in the pit of my stomach took me out of my thoughts as Mom wiped my lips like an infant after a filling meal. Except my stomach was empty of food or water and still fluttered and ached. Instinct told me to take the cloth from her and clean myself, but the straps held me snug in place.

"You'll be okay, Jo," she reassured, wiping my neck with a moist end of the cloth. Footsteps approached in the hall and she paused, frozen with a look of astonishment. Probably debating what to do next. "I need to get rid of these." She frantically rushed around the room, barely avoiding collision with the monitors and bulky equipment as she whipped back and forth to clean up the last traces of vomit.

She dropped the cloths in the trash bin just as the room door clicked and the tap of meticulous footsteps grew louder as they got closer.

She stood in front of me, scanning the room with worry in her eyes, not realizing the traces of evidence painted in the crooks of her face and clothes.

As Dr. Schwartz turned the corner he gasped. "Ms. Spencer? What on earth happened to you?"

She sighed in defeat. "It was an accident, but everything's alright. She'll be just fine."

He turned to me with wide eyes, switching on his flashlight. "Open. Let me take a look."

The thought of allowing him entry into my mouth, even to observe, made me grimace. Shaking my head in defiance, I made my refusal clear. "No."

"This may very well be a life-threatening situation." He glared, his dark eyes indicating his frustration. "Now, open up."

"No!" I turned my head away and clenched my teeth together, preparing for a repeat of my memory. He would have to pry my jaw open with a crowbar if he wanted to see inside.

He shook his head in annoyance, still holding back his anger that I sensed bubbled under the surface. "Ms. Spencer, excuse us please."

"You want me to leave?" She shook her head just as I did. "I want to stay. I want to know what's going on."

He rushed to the monitors, pressed a few buttons, and then the loud beeps and alarms began to reverberate inside the room. "I will have to sedate her to examine her wound thoroughly. It is a delicate process and only staff is allowed during that process. So please, Ms. Spencer. Your cooperation is imperative."

I shook my head to object, but it took much more effort to control my muscles than anticipated. Had he already given me the sedative? "Mom?" I managed, but my lips were not moving as quickly as I wanted. "Don't—" The words played out in my head but wouldn't escape my mouth. If I did what she had told me to, would he stop? Would he listen? "Ian," I whispered, trying to muster up the strength to fight the hands of sleep that threatened to pull me under. "Ian Rodgers."

Relief overwhelmed me as I gave in and allowed my muscles to relax and my eyes to close.

I blinked against the stark white of the room. Grogginess threatened to yank me back to sleep, but I fought it, tensing my muscles to bring them back to life.

"Jo?" Mom's soothing voice was in my ear. "Wake up, Jo."

I blinked again, trying desperately to have my body match my intentions. "Mom?"

"Yes, I'm here." Her smile was evident in her tone. "You did good, honey. You did so good."

My eyes met hers and my head slumped forward. Was she sitting in a chair? Was I? I glanced at my wrists which were bound to the armrests of a metal chair with a leather strap. I yanked, testing its strength.

"Don't hurt yourself now." She patted the back of my hand to stop me. "That's only there for your safety. Okay? You'll be out of that soon."

"What happened?" I managed to lift my heavy head and look into her worried eyes.

"What do you remember?"

Not this. Not now. "Please, Mom. I don't want to talk about memories." I took in a deep breath to fully awaken, no longer smelling burnt anything.

"It's important, Jo." She rubbed my shoulder to comfort me. "If you want to come home we have to go through the process. So, what do you remember?"

The process. So, there were rules and I had to play by them. "Blood." I smacked my lips together, trying to clear the rusty taste from my mouth. "I remember him putting his disgusting fingers in my mouth and biting him. His blood was everywhere." When I met her gaze again, the motherly worry I was used to seeing turned into uncertainty.

"But—" Her head teetered back and forth in her shoulders. "You didn't bite anyone."

"Was I dreaming?" A dream that vivid would convince anyone it was real.

She nodded uncomfortably slow. "It sounds like you were. Do you remember anything else?"

"You." I examined the crevices around her nose and eyes, and although there was no longer any trace of red, I was hesitant to ask if that was just a nightmare too. "Vomit?"

"Yes." She moved closer, sitting on the edge of her chair. "They examined you while you were under and, good news, you're fine! There are no ulcers or open wounds. The doctor thinks the incision in the roof of your mouth could have been bleeding and you may have swallowed some of the blood, but you're okay."

Could that explain the uncomfortable sensation in my gut? "Good."

"What about before?" She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer. "Do you remember anything?"

I lifted an eyebrow, testing. "Ian Rogers?"

Her eyes lit up. "So, you remember him?"

"Only the name." I shrugged. "Who is he?"

A wave of disappointment erased her brief enthusiasm. "He's the neighbor's son. He went through Deep Sleep treatment over a year ago and they brought him back home a couple months ago."

"Was he ordered to do treatment like me?"

"Of course, he was ordered. Not many kids have a choice, you know." She finally sat back, relaxing a bit. "It seems like only the wealthy take liberty in using this place like a babysitting service. Your kid won't clean their room? Send them to Deep Sleep. Need a break from your unruly teens? Send them to Deep Sleep. Want a vacation from being a parent? Send your kids to Deep Sleep. It should be illegal, I swear. Every year they come out with some new thing everyone wants to try or take advantage of."

Irritation screamed from her dismissive hand waves and eye rolls. "What do you mean?"

She swiped the air. "Nothing, I'm just complaining." She huffed and sat forward again. "Ian Rodgers was ordered to Deep Sleep for theft. He stole over ten thousand dollars' worth of stuff in a year. All kinds of stuff, jewelry, clothes, food. Since he awakened a couple of months ago, he's been the sweetest kid. Fully rehabilitated. Never stole a thing since or even get the urge to swipe something."

I tried to put it all together but was still confused. "What does he have to do with me?"

"He was your boyfriend. Or at least it was thought he was. You never told me about him, but then again you never really told me anything. You mentioned him in your diary though." She dropped her gaze in an attempt to hide her shame.

"Why am I here?"

"It's—" she huffed, hesitating. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" Didn't I have a right to know why I was ordered to Deep Sleep? "They did something to my brain while I was sleeping, and I want to know what and why."

"I don't want to upset you." Her hands trembled and she clasped them together in her lap to prevent it. "You've been through a lot."

I yanked the straps with my wrists and tried to stand, realizing my ankles were secured to the legs of the chair. "Tell me." I growled, ignoring the pain. "Tell me now. Why am I here?"

With fear in her eyes, she stuttered until her response was clear. "Some of the stuff he stole was in your possession. You were an accomplice."

I gave in to the pain around my wrists and relaxed in my seat. "Why? Why would we steal these things? For money?"

"Yeah, maybe." She shrugged, and for a moment I wondered if I looked like her whenever I shrugged. "No one really knows. Neither of you ever confessed or denied anything. You both always stayed quiet, but the evidence spoke for you."

I checked my memory for a reason. Only seeing a brief glimpse of my mouth romantically on another's. Had Ian and I been a couple? How close were we and why would we do the things we were accused of? "I'm confused."

"It's okay." She patted my hand. "It will all come back to you."

The urge to rub my temples to encourage my memory was interrupted by the realization that I was bound to a chair. "I want to leave." Anger quickly bubbled to the surface. "I want out of this place. Why won't they let me leave?"

"Safety reasons." Her voice was gentle.

I wasn't convinced. "Bullshit."

"Jo?" She seemed shocked at my behavior. "This isn't you and acting like this will get us nowhere."

If this wasn't me then who was I? I blinked, trying to remember my personality, my goals, my desires. Frustration was the only thing I connected with. Why couldn't I remember who I was? "What did he do to me? What did he do to my brain?"

"It's okay, Jo." Mom's gentle voice had no effect. "He treated the problem. That's what he does. He just has to see that your memory is undamaged."

My stomach churned again, and I desperately wanted to clench my gut to ease the pain but couldn't. Instead I belted over in my seat. "I hate this. I want it to stop." I dry heaved as the rancid taste returned to my taste buds overpowering my senses. "Why is this happening?"

"What's happening?" Mom stood, rubbing my shoulder to little relief. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm woozy. My stomach hurts." Wave after wave of nausea hit me and I didn't want to move until it subsided. Then the flutter became all too real as it moved from one side of my stomach to the other. I gasped. Wide eyes locked onto hers. "Oh, my god."

"What's wrong?" She knelt before me, urging me to speak. "You gotta tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

My fists tightened into balls as I mimicked herworried stare. "There's something inside of me."

~~~

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