I sat up, covered in sweat, the nightmare so real that a scream was still lodged in my throat.

I took several deep breaths and let my head fall into my hands. I’d thrown my covers off at some point during the night, and I shivered despite the sun shining through the windows of my room at Longview Rehabilitation Center.

I survived. I was here. I was okay.

I waited for the pounding of my heart to return to normal before I trusted my legs enough to hold me. I walked to the small bathroom and got in the shower, wishing I could wash the memories of that night off of my skin.

I wasn’t even sure if my nightmares were memories at all. Sometimes they seemed so real, I could swear I had lived them, but my doctor had warned me not to trust my dreams. There was no shadowy figure on the bridge that night. No oil-black tears running down Hailey’s face.

No long-haired stranger appearing from a bright light in the forest.

Those were nightmares and nothing more. I worked to push them away, falling into the safety of my routines.

It wasn’t until I’d dried my hair and gotten dressed that I realized exactly what day it was.

Today, I was going home.

My hands trembled as I stuffed my few belongings into my duffel bag. I wanted to go home, of course. It had been almost a year since the accident, and between my stay in the hospital and the past eight months here at Longview, I hadn’t seen my house or my friends since that night.

It was time.

But Longview had been a place of refuge for me. A place where it was perfectly normal to be messed up and sad and broken.

I stared out the window at the large oak tree in the courtyard. What would life be like out there?

I tried not to think about Hailey and how she wouldn’t be a part of my life, anymore. But when I closed my eyes, her face flashed in my memory. I tried to hold onto it for as long as I could. Sweet, smiling Hailey. My best friend in the whole world for as long as I could remember.

But every time I pictured her face, her eyes turned dark and the nightmares returned. She hadn’t been herself that night. I knew that, even if no one else believed me.

“Good morning, Marayah,” Dr. Millner said as she knocked on the door to my room and let herself in. Her dark hair was in the same perfect updo as always, and she wore the same black pants, white shirt, and white lab coat she always wore. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“I wanted to let you know that your parents are already here to pick you up,” she said. “They’re just filling out the final paperwork for your release. I wanted to see you before you left, though. I know this is a big transition for you.”

The knots in my stomach multiplied. There was so much pressure on me right now.

How will Marayah handle being back in the world? Will she be normal? Or is she so messed up from the accident she’s going to need permanent care?

These were the questions on everyone’s lips, and I was terrified none of us were going to like the answers.

“It’s normal to be nervous, you know.”

She smiled, as if telling me I was normal would somehow make it true.

“Do you really think I’m ready for this?” I asked.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

I sighed and looked down at my hands. She always did this—answered my genuine question with another question. I was tired of playing these games.

“It’s time for you to get back to your life,” she said “You’ve done a great job keeping up with schoolwork online, and you’re lucky to be starting your senior year of high school without missing a year. I think it’s important for you to be there on the first day of school, don’t you?”

I shrugged again but didn’t answer her. The thought of walking back into that school made me feel sick to my stomach. There was no going back to my old life, and we both knew it.

“I want you to know that if you need anything, I’m always going to be here for you,” Dr. Millner said.

She stepped closer and handed me a white business card. Her name and credentials were typed across the front, but she’d handwritten a phone number on the back of it.

“That’s my cell number,” she said. “If you need me, you can text or call me, anytime day or night, you understand?”

I nodded, surprised she’d given me her personal phone number. Did she do that for all her patients? Or was she particularly worried about me? I honestly couldn’t blame her if she was.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’ve been through a lot, I know, but you’re going to be okay,” she said, smiling again. “I’ll catch up with you when you come in for your next appointment in a month, okay?”

I nodded and clutched the white business card tightly in my hands.

“Everything is going to be okay, Marayah. I promise,” she said.

She watched me closely, as if waiting for me to agree with her or give her some sign that I was going to be okay. When I didn’t respond, she sighed and walked over to the open door.

“What if I never remember what really happened that night?” I picked up my duffle bag and took one step toward the door. “What if it’s gone forever?”

She looked at me with her kind, brown eyes that always seemed to be trying to judge me and comfort me at the same time.

“Honestly, Marayah, it might be better if you never remember,” she said. “Memory loss surrounding a trauma like this is our brain’s way of protecting us from things that are simply too painful for us to remember. I know it’s difficult, but do your best to try to let it go. It’s time to move on. Now, let’s go see your parents and get you home.”

Move on. Let it go. She made it sound so easy, like going out for ice cream.

Dr. Millner placed her arm around my shoulders and started to lead me out of the room when she stopped suddenly.

“Oh, my goodness, I almost forgot,” she said. She dug through the pockets of her lab coat and pulled out a small plastic bag. “This is something that was given to me by the hospital staff when you were transferred here. Because of our no jewelry policy, I wasn’t able to give it back to you right away, but now that you’re headed home, I figured you might want it back.”

She handed the bag to me, and I stared at it, confused. Inside was a silver medallion on a black rope. The medallion was circular with a smaller circle engraved inside. Triangles surrounded the circle and various symbols were etched inside each triangle. In the center, a drawing of a bear had been etched into the surface.

“I don’t understand,” I said, my breath short.

This couldn’t be real. I closed my eyes and counted to three, expecting it to be gone the moment I opened them again.

But it was still there.

“I know we aren’t supposed to have things like that here, but one of the nurses on staff when you were first brought into the emergency room said that she tried to give it back to your parents and they claimed it wasn’t yours,” Dr. Millner said. “But she clearly remembered that you had this necklace clutched in your hand when they first brought you in. She said you hadn’t wanted to let it go and that it seemed important to you, so she held onto it for you.”

I had never seen this necklace in my life, and yet, I was sure I had dreamed of it. A man with long, dark hair pressed it into my palm just before the ambulance arrived. They’d told me he was just a dream. A figment of my imagination after the trauma.

But if he was just a dream, why would I have been clutching this medallion in my hand when they found me?

Chills broke out across my skin. I wanted to ask more questions, but Dr. Millner was already halfway down the hall. I took several deep breaths and stuffed the necklace into my bag. I would have to study it later.

I ran to catch up and followed her into the reception area. My parents looked up from the paperwork as soon as we walked into the room. Mom’s eyes met mine, and she immediately burst into tears.

She did that a lot.

She opened her arms wide and threw them around me.

My mother was only five-foot-three, a tiny woman with shoulder-length black hair and a fierce loyalty to her family. I had a good twenty pounds and five inches of height on her, but she was incredibly strong.

She held me in the steel grip of her arms, her tears soaking into my shirt. I dropped my bag to the tile floor and hugged her back.

It had been the same scene every time she’d come to see me since the accident. Always tears. Always a death-grip, as if she was afraid that I would disappear the moment she let go.

My father, on the other hand, stood near the desk with a stoic expression on his face. Unlike my mother, he was tall at just over six feet. His dark hair was cut close to his head and his eyes were locked on mine.

He looked angry, but I knew his looks well enough to know that he was also scared.

As long as his little girl was still in some kind of hospital, she was safe. But back home? Who knows what she might get into?

When Mom finally let go, she wiped her face and managed a smile. “I can’t believe you’re finally coming home to us,” she said. “I was so afraid this day would never come.”

She grabbed my hand, waiting for me to say something, but I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I didn’t know how to act or be in a situation like this. I just wanted to be me. Marayah. Normal.

But there was nothing normal about heading home from a place like this, and I no longer felt like the person I used to be.

Luckily, Dr. Millner stepped in and saved me from the awkward silence.

“Marayah has done such great work here at Longview,” she said. “We are all very proud of her, and I have every confidence that she’s going to be just fine. Isn’t that right, Marayah?”

I nodded and tried to smile, but my nerves were getting the best of me. I attempted to swallow the doubts that crept up my throat like thick spiders, but they wouldn’t go away.

“Where’s Kimi?” I asked, glancing around the nearly-deserted space. I was hoping my little sister would be here to help break the tension, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Mom let go of my hand and hurried over to my father. They looked so different from one another. Short and tall. Japanese and Native American. But somehow, they fit perfectly together.

“We decided it might be easier to reunite the two of you at home, instead of here in a more public place,” she said. “We know this is going to be a difficult transition for you, so we plan to take it slow and let you ease back into things a little at a time.”

I sighed.

I had only been allowed to see my sister once since the accident a year ago. They let her visit me shortly after I woke up from the coma, but my parents had been worried that seeing me there in the hospital too often would upset her.

Then, when I was moved here to the rehab center where most of the teen patients were drug addicts or attempted suicides, it was as if my parents were afraid that mental illness was contagious. Better to only have one head case to deal with, so Kimi stayed home.

I couldn’t believe they were still keeping her from me, even now.

“There’s just one more release for you all to sign,” Mrs. Clover, Longview’s receptionist, said. “Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, you sign here that you are releasing Marayah from the program but agree that she will continue her therapy as an outpatient for at least one year from today’s date. Marayah, you’ll also need to sign that you agree to the therapy.”

I thought about asking what would happen if I refused to sign, but I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to that. They wouldn’t let me leave.

I signed on the dotted line, and we were free to go.

Dr. Millner gave me a hug at the door as she escorted us out. “Remember to call me anytime if you need me, okay?”

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.” She lowered her voice, turning away from my parents for a moment. “It’s going to be a tough transition for them, too, but the more you can try to open up to them and really talk to them about how you’re feeling, the easier it’s going to be for all of you.”

“Okay,” I said as I left her side and stepped through the open door, but I knew better.

No one wanted to hear about what really happened to us that night. They’d already created their own version of the truth, and I had been declared guilty from the moment that car hit the bridge.

All they wanted now was for me to agree to their lies.

Inside Longview, I’d gotten good at it. I’d learned to nod and smile. I’d learned to stop talking about the dark figure on the bridge and the things I saw once we hit the water. They were only dreams, right?

And I’d almost started to believe it.

Almost.

But deep inside, the truth festered like an open wound. Over time, the pain had grown numb, and I’d learned to live with the dull ache inside of me. I had learned to hide it from everyone around me, even myself, but it was still there, like a shadow leaning over my shoulder.

Leaving Longview was supposed to mean freedom. It was supposed to mean that I had healed and was ready for a fresh start.

Instead, it was like ripping off a bandage, exposing my wounds all over again.

Tears gathered in my eyes as the warm light of the sun fell across my cheek, and I turned to stare at the brick building where I’d spent the past six months of my life. Until now, I hadn’t realized just how safe I had been there.

And how absolutely terrified I was to be going home.