As yet untitled short story

             I woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and the sound of happy chatter downstairs. I’ve never been a morning person, but today, I’m excited about breakfast and whatever is happening in the kitchen. I sit up, stretch, and sit on the side of my bed for a moment until it hits me: This is all wrong.

            The feeling of contentment is now a cold lump of fear in my gut as I look around and find nothing familiar about my surroundings. There is no phone on the nightstand, only a glass of water and a medication bottle with my name on the label. What the hell?! I shove my feet into the fuzzy bear paw slippers next to the bed and cover myself with a ratty bathrobe from the end of the bed. There is no reason to wander around half-naked and confused. I don’t know how I got here, but I gather my wits about me and look for a bathroom. I’d rather not face this with a full bladder.

*

            Ok. I can handle whatever this is now. I could live in that bathroom. It’s bigger than my first apartment, and I couldn’t help looking around for a bathroom attendant to tip. I’m feeling lightheaded now, and I finally understand what people mean when they say they have cold chills up and down their spine. All the framed pictures on the wall heading down the staircase feature strangers with real smiles that actually reach their eyes and me. There I am, smiling back at myself. I tear myself away from the photos and follow the sound of easy conversation to the kitchen.

*

            I take a few tentative steps into the kitchen, and the man from the photos hands me a steaming mug of coffee that says “Worlds Okayest Mom” on it and kisses my cheek.

            “Happy birthday, love. We wanted to give you breakfast in bed, but here you are.”

            I sip the coffee—made exactly how I like it—and slide into a chair to a chorus of “Happy Birthday,” complete with a swing vamp at the end, and a delicious-smelling plate of perfect pancakes and bacon. The lightheaded feeling is persistent, though. I must be having a reaction to something. None of this makes sense; I feel like I might pass out. Even my vision is kind of shimmering around the edges.

            “Babe!” I hear the man’s concerned voice as if it’s very far away before I lose consciousness.

*

            I’m awake again to silence, and I can’t move my limbs. I keep my eyes closed because I don’t want confirmation that I’m back in my nightmare. I am in padded restraints. I don’t belong here! Where is my family? I have kids and a nice husband. Don’t I? They say my family died before I came to this place. None of it makes sense. The tears are coming now, and I start screaming louder and louder until they bring the needle. I struggle. I hate the needle. I scream until oblivion overtakes me again. 

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