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“You’re going to be alright.” His voice, his accent was… not New York, that’s for sure. Maybe British? Like a Brit who was trying to sound New York.

He reached for me again, but I shied away. That stopped him in his tracks. I felt along the walls, using my fingertips as a guide, stepping slowly until I was in the corner. He was right. If I moved slowly, the world didn’t seem to spin apart. I felt like an inch worm. These shuffling baby steps were exhausting. Was I sweating? I looked down. Too fast, too fast. I felt my chin hit my chest and ricochet up again. He was suddenly there, with a hand behind my head, so I wouldn’t smash into the wall.

“Slowly.”

His eyes were so blue. So… everything. I tested out a nod. Just a small one. He’d catch me if I fell, right? Maybe I should fall on purpose. He pulled his hand away from me, like he wasn’t sure if I was going to do something stupid again. I tilted my head down again, slowly this time.

What the fuck was I wearing? Scrubs? These were not my clothes. A shiver of revulsion rippled across my skin. It didn’t feel good wearing them. I plucked at the v-neck. I’d rather be… naked.

Naked.

I had been naked.

Oh my god.

Someone had changed my clothes. All of a sudden, I felt that my hair was damp. I reached up,slowly, to touch it. It was mostly dry, but tangled, like it was left to air dry. I noticed the corner with a shower head.

Fuck me. I was in a cell. I was alone with a strange man who had showered me and changed my clothes.

What the actual fuck?.

“Where are my clothes?” I refused to cringe at the power in my voice. It was still too loud. It hurt my… not my ears, it seemed to hurt my whole body. I watched his face. He did that puppy head tilt thing, trying to figure out what I was saying. Oh, I’ll make it fucking crystal clear for you, buddy.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

“More… comfortable?”

“Well, yes.” He had that “duh, are you stupid” look about him. I felt an epic mansplaining coming on.

“So, you thought I’d be more… comfortable… waking up in different clothes. Is that what you thought?”

“Ob…” He started to say “obviously”, but look on my face cut him off. Then he… shifted. That was the only way to describe it. He didn’t move, not really, but I saw it anyway. His face and body language... No, that wasn’t quite right - his aura - or something, shifted from concern, to confusion, to something… Something like guilt? No, not quite. But he sped right through that and landed in “indignant”.

“Why am I here?” Again I watched him shift.

It was… weird. It was like his emotional state had a texture to it, a resonance that I could feel. Just like my ears could feel sound and my brain turned that into words I could understand. This guy had emotions I could feel.

When he didn’t answer, no, correction… he didn’t answer with words. I could feel his response, but that didn’t make sense. I couldn’t trust that. When he didn’t use his words, I tried a fresh track.

“What did you… What happened to me?” As the words came out, I noticed my tongue was dry and pasty. Why was I so thirsty?

“What’s your name?”

My brain sputtered at the question, and I blurted out “Tiffany” like a pre-programmed response.

“You don’t seem like a Tiffany.”

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. This one time in junior high school… why the hell was I tripping down memory lane with absurd stories about my dumb name?

“My name is not the point. What happened?” He frowned at my sharp tone.

“I… There was a… an accident.” Now his body language seemed to match his emotional vibration. He fidgeted and took a step back.

“An accident.” I tried to think, I tried to remember. Was I hit by a car? Fell down a well? “What kind of accident are we talking about here?”

“I…” He looked up at the ceiling briefly, like the right words were floating there, waiting for him to pluck them down. I couldn’t help myself, I looked too. Were all the answers were floating up on the ceiling of… this cell?

“I bit you… and you…”