cupid clearly hates me.

[ 36 ]

Blank.

A cloudless sky. An empty glass. An inkless page.

Darkness.

Who were you? Where were you? What was this feeling—this heat that made you feel like syrup?

Why was it dark?

There was a bit of pressure on your eye, and then there was light. Too much of it. You clenched your eyelid, and the light went away. Darkness again. Safety.

There were voices. Two, to be exact. They sounded similar, like maybe there was only one person, talking to himself with slightly different tones.

There was pressure on your eye again, and the light came back, but this time, it was less intense. You could just barely see past the sharp spark of white, where stood the shadow of a human.

But was it a human, or a demon? An angel, perhaps?

What were you?

The voices were becoming clearer. More pronounced and versatile, like the speakers were bilingual, or had lots of fluctuating emotions to express in the form of their tones.

You tried to close your eye, but couldn't. Something was holding it open.

It was a thumb.

You let your other eye open, and, although it was a painful process, it adjusted to the light just as your other eye had.

You were lying on a bed of some sort, a white sheet loosely covering your body. The room surrounding you was small, with white painted drywall and a single window that let in a harsh, bright stream of light. Two white, open curtains surrounded the glass. You wished they were drawn.

You looked back at the shadow of the human, which was now more detailed than a shadow. It was, in fact, a man, with angular cheeks and narrow, chocolate-colored eyes. He had dark skin—mocha brown—and a tuff of super-curly black hair atop his head. He was dressed in a white coat, which contrasted greatly to the dark colors of his natural self. He was the one who had his thumb on your eye, but as you were making that connection, he pulled his hand away. Without a smile, he said: "It's good to see you awake, (Y/N)."

You stared at him, then saw movement in your peripheral vision. There was another man, standing by a doorway that you hadn't noticed before. Upon seeing it, the word escape popped into your head. You ignored it.

This second man was dressed in the same sort of white robe as the first, but his features were quite the opposite. His skin was tan and creamy, a bit rosy around the cheeks—but pleasantly rosy, like the bottom of a baby's toe. His hair was blonde, and it fell around his forehead in perfect strands. His eyes were gentle and round, as were his lips, which curved upwards when you looked at him. "Good morning," he chirped. "How are you feeling?"

You looked away. How were you feeling?

"I don't know," you breathed. It was honest.

"Well, that's alright. You have just woken up in a strange new place, after all," the blonde man said, his smile turning bittersweet as he stepped closer to you. "My name is Dr. Goldberg. I'm here to help you—"

"I thought we agreed not to tell her our names yet," barked the first man.

Dr. Goldberg looked surprised for a moment, his kind, blue eyes widening. He nodded in my direction. "Can we save this conversation for later? I'm pretty sure we're in the middle of something."

"Sure. Whatever you say, babe."

Dr. Goldberg gasped softly. "How dare you call me that in such a hostile tone! I'll have you know, I work hard to treat our newcomers like they haven't just been transformed into entirely new beings, and yet here you are, trying to start some petty argument like—"