I'm racing towards a clock at the speed of light.

The pink atmosphere should be calming, but my panic is too far gone. Every instinct is screaming at me to slow down, to stop, to stay as far away from the clock as possible, but it's useless; I'm completely paralyzed.

There's nothing special about it except the velocity of its arms; they spin like rapid fire, so fast I can barely see them. I match them in speed, crossing the length of football fields in seconds. I'm gonna hit this thing, no question about it.

"Figure it out!" A voice warns when the clock is only inches away. I brace myself for impact, but instead of smacking into its face, I pass through like smoke. Black fog moves in and cuts out my senses.

Then, I'm falling again. I hit the ground—

And shoot up in bed, gasping for air.

My hair sticks to my forehead with sweat; it feels like a thousand degrees in my room. Pushing the covers off to feel some relief, I bend over my knees and take deep, even breaths. You're okay, just breathe. You're okay...

Then, someone touches my back.

"Hey, are you ok—"

I flail around blindly until my hand hits bare skin, then I'm screaming at the top of my lungs. Scrambling off the side of the bed, I reach around desperately for anything to defend myself. My fingers wrap around the base of a lamp, and I hold it out in front of me as I stumble to my feet. As I feel under the lampshade for the switch, the stranger in my bed talks again.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell?!"

Except this time, I recognize it.

"Carter?" I whisper, flipping the light on — and dropping it at the sight of him.

He looks like Carter, but not like I've ever seen him. I have to rub my eyes, that's how much I don't believe it. He's somehow grown facial hair overnight, a shadow of scruff that hugs his strong jawline. The muscles in his back ripple as he sits up in bed, and his shoulders are much broader than yesterday. His hair is shorter too and rests just above his eyebrows, still furrowed in pain as he cradles his cheek.

"Babe, the light—"

"Stop," I barely utter.

"Stop what?" he asks incredulously. "I was just checking to see if you're alright!"

"Stop calling me babe."

He ignores me. "Jeez, that must've been a bad one. You really got me good." Giving his cheek a final rub, he pats the space next to him in bed. "C'mon, lay down, I'll hold you. It was just another nightma—"

"Carter, get up." I feel like I've gone into shock; it wouldn't surprise me if I passed out at any second.

Sighing, he glances at the clock on the bedside table. "Amber, it's not even six. Just try and get more sleep for me, ok?"

"S-something's wrong with you," I say, tripping over my own tongue.

He pauses. "What do you mean?"

"Your face." My finger points at him limply.

He gives me a weary look. "Instead of going back to bed, you wanna stay up... and make fun of my face?"

I'm creeping very close to hysterics now, and he's definitely not helping. "Carter, just listen to me!"

"Alright, alright, I'm listening! What's wrong with my face?"

"It's," I pause for air, my brain in desperate need of oxygen, "old."

Another hard look before he pulls the covers over his head. "Amber, please—"

I rip them back off. "I said get the hell up!"

He stares back at me like I've grown three heads. "Ok, what is going on? Are you still asleep or something?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. Could I be asleep? I pinch myself like in the movies and wince. Nope, still painful. "I'm awake, I think."

"Well, just take a second and breathe, alright? You're starting to scare me." His concerned expression makes him look even older.

How fucking long was I asleep?

"I'm already scared, Carter. I don't know where I am, you're not understanding me, and something's still wrong with your face!"

"Ok," he says, pulling himself to his feet. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and I avert my eyes as he walks over to take my hand. "Come sit."

"What, why?"

"Because the only way we're gonna sleep is if you calm down." He leads me to a pair of white chairs situated near the front of the room. "So just sit and we'll talk through the nightmare until you feel better."

Nodding absently, I let my eyes wander to our surroundings for the first time. We're in a bedroom, that's clear, but it's about three times bigger than mine. The giant ass bed I just fell out of acts as the focal point and features a canopy of indigo silk. Our chairs face each other over a glass coffee table, while a black granite fireplace sits on the right hand wall.

Carter fidgets with it until flames dance in the hearth. I follow his every move as he joins me at the chairs, still trying to wrap my brain around his new appearance. But when he sits, I get stuck on the line of windows behind him that overlook what I assume is a park.

It's hard to tell underneath all the snow.

Just like that, I'm spiraling all over again. I spring out of my chair. "Oh God, I think I'm having a mental breakdown."

"Woah, Amber, just—" Carter stands too and attempts to touch me, but I shake him off. Sighing, he holds his hands up to show he won't do it again. "Why do you think you're having a breakdown?"

"There's snow!" I say, gesturing to the window for emphasis.

He doesn't look, but his face wrinkles in confusion. "And? It's been snowing all month."

"B-but," I glance between him and the window until I'm dizzy, "It doesn't snow in August... right?"

"Right..." Carter says warily. "But it's March, so what does that matter?"

My mouth goes dry as realization dawns — something is very wrong here. Whatever's happening, Carter's not experiencing it. I'm going through this alone.

"Look, let's just work through it together." Carter lowers back into his chair, and instinctively, I do the same. "I can't help you until I understand what's the matter. Just start there."

I run a hand over my face in a feeble attempt to calm down. I'm still a mess when I look back up at him, especially when I notice the tattoo climbing up his arm. He definitely didn't have that yesterday.

"I'm missing time, Carter. You're saying it's March, but when I went to bed last night, it was still the end of summer. I don't remember anything from then until now or how we even got here."

Carter narrows his eyes at me, searching for God knows what. "Are you messing with me?"

"For once, I promise that's not what I'm doing."

His face drops, clearly hoping that was the case. "Ok... ok, um, let's focus on what you do remember then. Recall as much as you can and I'll try to fill in the blanks."

His helpfulness takes me by surprise. He really does care that I'm upset.

Weird.

"The last thing I remember is our fight." My cheeks flare briefly at the memory of what led up to it.

Carter looks puzzled. "What did we fight about?"

"What did we- are you serious?" Maybe I'm not the only one with memory issues after all. "The fight with Mark at the log, what else?"

Carter's entire demeanor changes. Before, he was concerned; now he's downright distressed. He leans forward so far in his chair, I'm afraid he's gonna fall out of it. "What did you just say?"

I scooch back, perplexed. "The fight with Mark at the log... do you not remember?"

His eyes search my face feverishly. "Amber, please tell me this is one of your sick jokes or a mean prank or—"

My temper flares. "God damnit, Carter, it's not!"

"You are telling me the last thing you remember is the day before Darren's back to school party?"

"Am I talking in tongues or something? Yes, that's exactly what I am telling you. Can we please move on to the part where you start helping?"

All the color drains from his face, which of course makes me feel ten times better.

"Oh God, what?"

Carter cups his hands over his mouth, then bends over his lap. "Fuck."

"Ok, definitely don't do that."

Standing abruptly, Carter refuses to look at me. "Stay here."

"Huh?" It's like he's done a complete one eighty. "What the hell happened to sitting and talking?"

"Amber, just stay here. I'm coming back."

"But what's wrong—"

"Nothing's wrong." he says shortly, snatching up what looks like a calculator from his bedside table.

"Since when are you such a shitty liar?" Ignoring his demand, I push off from the chair and move to follow him out. "Just tell me what it is! What did I say wrong?"

"Look, I gotta make a call real quick. I'll be a lot more helpful once I do, okay? It'll take two seconds." The blatant fear in his voice doesn't make me feel better about him leaving.

"But—"

He's gone before I can protest any further.

The room is eerily quiet now, making it hard to sit still. Taking some liberties with what "here" means, I wander in search of a bathroom. I need cold water on my face to at least attempt waking up. Yes, I am holding out on the "still asleep" theory.

Noticing a hall off to the left, I rush down it before Carter catches me. I take a chance and hang a right through the first door I find. It leads into the most extravagant bathroom I've ever seen. There's a glass wall detailed with shattering effects, making it impossible to see through to what I assume is the shower. The tile floors are white marble with swirls of greys and blues, accentuated by indigo towels that hang on opposite ends of the bathroom.

Zeroing in on two buddy sinks against the right hand wall, I take a step, then let out a bloodcurdling scream. Scratch that — I check to see who the hell is behind me in the mirror before realizing that is me.

Then I start screaming.

My face has matured drastically. Gone are the baby features that made me look young for my age; in their place are high cheekbones and a slender jaw. My lips have filled out, as has my body, with more weight sitting in my hips and chest than before. Smile lines grace my cheeks, while deep bags hang heavily under my eyes. Not exactly what you'd expect from someone who's been asleep for eight months straight.

Carter tears through the door seconds later, eyes frantic. "Damn it Amber, I said stay put!"

"There's something wrong with my face!" I shout, pointing stupidly at the mirror.

"I know, I know, we're gonna fix it—"

"Why didn't you tell me about my face?!" Any composure I regained is gone. There's no chance of a calm conversation anymore.

I barely make it to the toilet before retching violently, clutching the bowl for dear life. Once it subsides, I find Carter hovering close by, looking like he wants to help but unsure of how I'll react.

"I need to get out of here." I slowly pick myself up off the floor, using the toilet for help.

"Amber, I think we need to go to the hospital."

His voice is like white noise in my ears. Nothing he says registers as I walk out the bathroom with no clue where I'm going.

Carter's wondering too — and right behind me. "Hey, wait, did you hear what I said? Was that a yes?"

"I'm not going to a hospital," I say curtly, powering back down the hall until I reach the main bedroom again. "I'm going home. This has been the most traumatic morning of my life, and I'm officially done."

I search the bedroom floor for anything to throw on, becoming very aware of the skimpy nightgown I'm wearing. Thankfully, I find a sweatshirt and a pair of black leggings discarded on the end of the bed and pull them on.

"Amber, you can't go home." Carter watches me struggle from a few feet away, but looks ready to grab me if I try anything funny.

"Like hell I can't."

"We're not in Susquehanna."

That makes me freeze. If any more information gets thrown at me, I'm afraid my brain might break. "What the hell are you talking about? Where else would we be?"

He steps closer and takes me by the shoulders; I'm so desperate to understand at this point, I just let him. "Listen, I promise when I say this, I'm not messing with you either, ok?"

"Carter, please, just spit it out so we can end this and go home."

"That's the thing, ba—" he senses me tense up at the pet name and swiftly back tracks. "Am, we're in New York. We don't live in Pennsylvania anymore... and we haven't for a while."

A cold pit forms in the hollow of my stomach, made worse by his hands trembling against my skin. "H-how long—"

"That day at the log didn't happen eight months ago. We've been out of high school for almost ten years."

I'm stuck in stunned silence as my brain fails to comprehend. Immediately, it rejects everything he's saying and rationalizes why it ever came out of his mouth. Keeping my breaths even, I refuse to freak out because the truth is, things are starting to click. I was wrong before; Carter is experiencing this, but very differently from me. I'm just missing time — this guy's missing his fucking sanity.

"Right..." I say slowly, using my peripheral as subtly as possible. "Ok, sure."

Carter blinks back at me. "What?"

"Fine. That's fine." I feel his fingers loosen, and I take a step back. "Totally makes sense."

"It does?" He searches my face for any sign that I'm lying, but I make sure to keep it expressionless.

One more step, and I'm a good two feet away. I can only hope it's enough. "Yeah, sure — if you're on crack!"

Then, I turn on my heel and sprint.

Blindly at first until I spot the door leading out of the bedroom. Ignoring Carter's protests, I bolt and find myself in a grand hallway leading God knows where. I run down it briskly, the right side completely open with only a glass railing between me and the floor below. Gaping, I follow the railing to a set of wood-slatted stairs that lead down to a sunken living room.

Taking the steps three at a time, I hit the bottom and maneuver around a pair of burgundy couches, only to stub my toe on a solid rock coffee table. Swearing profusely, I clutch my foot and scan my surroundings with more scrutiny. The whole space is an open floor plan, with the living room flowing into a pristine kitchen. A giant island sits smack dab in the middle, and I make a beeline for it in hopes of finding a phone. I come up empty except for another calculator.

Wait...is this thing a phone?

I twist and turn the device, then almost drop it when the whole front lights up. Studying it quizzically, I click a button at the bottom with my thumb. The screen changes to a bunch of square icons instead of a dial pad.

Staring at it blankly, I curse under my breath. "Why do rich people buy such complicated shit?"

Through trial and error, I figure out it's touch screen and tap the phone icon at the bottom. As soon as the dial pad opens, I punch in a number and hold the phone up to my ear. I'm still on high alert, listening for any sign of Carter coming after me, but there's only quiet — including on the phone.

Then, "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."

I try two more times and get the same message. I've known my home number by heart since elementary school, so there's no way I'm repeatedly getting it wrong. Understanding is beginning to set in as I recall Carter's absurd explanation, that I've somehow aged ten years overnight.

There's no way. There's just no way.

I try Mom's cell, but again, same response. Dad's number rings twice, then goes to the voicemail box of someone named Evan. I'm desperate by the time I try a third number, my hands shaking so much I almost slip up on the last digit. I hold my breath as it rings.

"Hey this is Mark. You know what to do when that phone go-" Beep.

"Mark!" I scream, my heart overcome with relief. "Mark, something's happening and I have no idea what. This is gonna sound crazy, but I need you to come to New York and get me right now. Call me ASAP!" I hang up and pray he gets the message soon.

I'm halfway through Chloe's number when I hear footsteps behind me.

"Amber—"

"Stay there, Carter!" I spin on him and brandish the phone as if it's a weapon. "I'm leaving right now and you're not stopping me!"

"What exactly is your plan here?" he asks, blocking me in from the other side of the island.

"Have you ever known me to think ahead? I don't have one other than getting the hell away from you."

"Well, wandering the streets of New York isn't gonna help anything, and neither is avoiding me. We have to talk about this!"

"How?" I ask, throwing my hands up in frustration. "How do we talk about this? We don't even know what this is!"

"And we aren't going to find out if you leave!" he yells, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Sorry, sorry, I just- look. You're right. We don't know what's happening, but I do know this is the safest place for you." His voice is calmer now, his eyes pleading. "You've known me my whole life Amber, so really think about it. Would I ever let anything bad happen to you? Can't you trust me?"

Breathing hard, I glare at him over the island and weigh out my options. As much as I hate to admit it, Carter does have a point. Without any money — or any shoes — walking around the city doesn't make much sense, and neither does fighting with him.

But trust Carter Hayes? I'm nowhere near that.

"I'm not going to the hospital," I say finally.

Carter relaxes a little. "Fine. No hospital. Now will you please come and sit down?"

He gestures to two bar stools on the other end of the island. I hesitate, then reluctantly storm over.

Throwing myself into the one furthest from him, I rest my forehead against the cool granite top. "You better make a big ass pot of coffee," I mutter. "And if you add cream or sugar, I'll kill you."