Awaken Ye Demon [On Hiatus]

11.

My blankets were soaked with sweat when I woke up and realized that I wasn't, in fact, trapped. It was a relief to lie there and stare up at the pure, white ceiling I used to lie under in my troubled youth. It brought me back to simpler times when I was ... grounded, for instance.

Grounded was pretty much my Facebook status until I turned eighteen and realized that Facebook was lame and my parents couldn't control me anymore. It also made acting out a little less interesting. But seriously, I wasn't lacking for a reason to be grounded: I resorted to violence to resolve issues, stole things I wanted, skipped classes on test days when I wasn't ready to ace it, and much, much, more. It was a miracle my teachers still liked me when I graduated. They let me get away with way too much. 

And, like, I know you're supposed to grimace in embarrassment of past no-nos, but I have one I absolutely can't regret. My greatest achievement at being bad was when I took off to a concert for a weekend with my best friend in Junior year. His name was Ryan and we totally loved Taylor Swift. The big kicker? We didn't tell a soul. They were searching for our bodies, for crying out loud! Talk about over-protective parents. Am I right?

But steering back to the bigger picture, the relief I felt was short lived when I realized the white ceiling was just the beginning. A dream like that meant that the whole "demon-psycho" thing was starting to get to my head and I really needed my vacation to work if I didn't want to end up in a white padded room, too.

The door opened and mom poked her head inside without looking.

"You awake, honey?"

"Yes," I said, still tucked under the moist covers. "What time is it?"

"Two in the after-noon."

"Really? Shoot. I'll be right down, mom."

She looked my way and then shrieked. "Oh my god!"

I couldn't help but shriek as well. I tore my blankets off and scrambled away from my bed, cold chills running my spine. I turned to face the bed, heart pounding, and looked high and low for something out of place. There was nothing wrong.

I turned to my mother and she stared at me with wide-eyes. "There's blood on your face! Honey what happened to your lip?"

"Oh no," I muttered. It was then I notice the stinging at my mouth. I scurried to the vanity and peered into the mirror. My bottom lip was swollen and punctured, presumably from my teeth, and the blood had smeared up half my face. "How?"

Mom pushed the door open more and came to my side. "Clean up, pumpkin. I'll fetch some of your dad's Aquaphor and make you some breakfast."

Swallowing the dread in my stomach, I managed a grimace of a smile. "Thanks mom."

On the bright side, at least I had miracle cream for my lips. Nothing could fix me up better than a little extra care from mom and dad. It was a true comfort and reminder that my parents were the best, even if they did ground me for eighty percent of my childhood.