You decided that any plans would have to wait until tomorrow. Some paranoid part of you told you that it would be unwise to leave your apartment tonight. Instead, you slipped out of the patient gown and flopped on your bed. You tried to will yourself to sleep but the terror and adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. Your brain kept turning, replaying the events of the evening, the fragments you could remember, over and over. You laid there for what felt like hours, and while you didn't recall ever actually falling asleep, you woke the next morning to the sun shining in your face.
You got up for a quick, cold shower, and then pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Your plan was as follows: pretend to go to work as normal, catch a different bus back to your mom's house, ask to stay for a while, and call the police on a borrowed phone. You weren't looking forward to any part of this plan, but there was no way you could just continue your life as normal after what happened to you.
Stuffing a granola bar into your mouth, you pulled on your jacket and headed out of the apartment. You decided to leave your smartphone behind. As far as you know, it could be used to track you.
It was a cold morning. You stood on a corner and watched the sun rise, your breath frosting the air and your face numb, waiting for the bus that normally took you to work. You climbed on and got off at the very first stop, waiting for the next one, which would take you to the other side of town. You found yourself glancing around, searching for invisible spies.
The next bus arrived and you quickly climbed in.
You rode the bus for an hour and felt your unease grow, like a seed planted in fertile soil. It took root and grew until you felt close to a panic attack. When it came time to hop off, you pulled up your hood and took a winding, rambling path to your old home.
You walked around the side of the old Martinez house and climbed the fence into your mom's back yard, then knocked on the back window.
The door swung open, and you were greeted by the very confused visage of your younger sister, Claire. It seemed she still hadn't grown out of her goth phase, though she was always a lot perkier than any goths you had met. She was dressed in a short black lambskin dress with striped leggings, and her hair was cut short and dyed purple. Her eyes went wide when she saw you. "Alex? What are you doing here?" she gasped. You quickly shushed her, muttering "It's a long story, please let me in, quickly."
Your sister stepped aside, letting you into the house and closing the door behind you.
"Mom's gonna freak, we thought you'd ditched us all forever! And your old classmate Sarah asks about you all the time." Claire said.
"Yeah, look, I'm sorry about that. But I'm here for a reason." You replied, "Can I stay here for a while?"
"Well, uh, Mom's been running this eBay business from home, so she's been using your room for cardboard box storage."
"Great." you sighed, rolling your eyes.
"But I'm pretty sure your stuff's still there, under all the cardboard."
She suddenly surprised you with a hug.
"I missed you bro, you didn't have to run out on us just 'cause you dropped out of college and wasted all that money."
The emotional double-punch of warmth and guilt left your mind reeling.
"Come on, you've got to tell me what you've been up to." Claire, said, taking you by the hand and leading you upstairs.
"Uh, in a moment." You replied. "Claire, can I borrow your phone for a moment?"
"Yyyeah, I guess? Don't you already have a phone?" She replied, tilting her head and looking at you as if you were an alien.
"Something happened. Don't worry, I'll be quick."
Claire held out her phone and watched, bemused, as you took it with you into the upstairs bathroom, slamming the door behind you.