When my eyes open again, I remember the dream I had, Captain America coming, Captain America taking me away, Captain America telling me that I was a villain. I'm uncharacteristically drowsy, which I guess is why it takes me so long to realize just how uncomfortable the couch is.

And then I realize it isn't the couch.

I'm not at home, not on my couch, not waiting for my mom to come home hours later than she promised. No, I'm somewhere else. Because it wasn't a dream. It should've been. It shouldn't have been real.None of this should've happened. Except it did. Except I'm lying somewhere, and it's cold, and it smells, and I have no idea where I am, and damn it, I'm scared.

At this point I should be sitting up, looking around, trying to figure out what's going on. Instead though, I'm just sitting here, doing nothing besides trying not to cry. Because, you know, when you're kidnapped by Captain America, sitting around, trying not to cry, is always a good option.

I wish I knew what time it was, where I am, what's going on. Stupid things going through my head: Iis there food? Is there a bathroom? Does this count as an excused absence? And is my mom worried? The last one is especially crazy, because she probably hasn't even realized I'm gone. Unless maybe school called to tell her I didn't show up. Or maybe school hasn't even started yet. Or maybe Captain America really has gone insane and destroyed D.C. and now there is no school.

Or maybe I did something wrong. Of course I did something wrong. Because Captain America is, well, Captain America. And I'm me. I'm nobody. But I'm a nobody who did something terribly, terribly wrong.

Part of me wants to know why I'm here, where here is, what I did. The rest of me though? The rest of me just wants to fall asleep. A deep, deep sleep. And a little, tiny, not so little, huge, most of me doesn't really want to wake up at all. Part of me wishes that I could close my eyes and drift away into whatever comes after or perhaps nothing at all.

I was raised on God and Heaven. Heaven or Hell, they were the options. But some things change everything about the world. Some things turn everything upside down and inside out and what used to be a given in now a ridiculous idea. And things that used to be ideas are now givens. I guess somewhere along the way Heaven and Hell turned into heaven and hell and then into nothing at all. Actually, that's not true. Somewhere along the way was the day a flag showed up instead of my dad. The day active duty turned to killed in action. The day an official informed me that my father had died for his country but I couldn't know how he died.

That was the day that there was no longer an all loving, ever present God. Because if there was, then this wouldn't have happened. Because if there was, then I would have answers. If there was, I wouldn't need answers because I'd have my dad.

But I don't have my dad. I don't have answers. All I have is a cold little room somewhere that I don't know all alone with my confusion and goosebumps and headache. At some point they have to come back. At some point someone has to tell me what's going on. At some point this will make sense. But I guess that point isn't right now, because right now I don't see anyone.

Although my surroundings are getting clearer as my head is, nothing is making any more sense. I couldn't have imagined a more stereotypical interrogation room if I tried. Which is slightly disturbing to say the least. Because although I can safely say I've never been interrogated before I can also pretty safely say I'd like to keep it that way.

I'm on the floor, which probably isn't a good sign. If they were planning on having a nice polite conversation they'd probably have found at least a chair or something to put me on.

Everything's getting clearer and yet at the same time my confusion is only mounting. There's pain in my head, of course, but my side also hurts, and my back, and really ever part of my body. My body has a heaviness like it did the few hours after I got my appendix removed and they had to knock me out.

It's funny., I should be panicking, beating at the door, screaming for someone to let me out. Instead though, all I can think about is this random conversation I had with my dad when I was eight. He'd taken me to an amusement park. It was supposed to be a fun day out, except I was completely terrified of the rides. As in he couldn't even convince me to get onto the carousel, that's how freaked out I was.

The sun's shining bright. In my eyes. Blinding me. It's uncomfortably warm and my shirt itches. Next to me a couple is talking. The woman bursts into loud peals of laughter and I jump backwards. A group of kids my age run by, squealing. It's like a stampede. Somehow in the chaos my dad disappears.

I'm running, looking, calling. But he's gone. Heart beating a million miles an hour, sweat pouring down my brow. At some point I start crying.

And then, out of nowhere, he appears. Like that moment in a movie, silhouetted in light, practically glowing, larger than life. You could practically hear the triumphant music in the background.

"I've got you kid." My dad smiles. Suddenly the voices aren't as loud, the smells not so overpowering, the sun not so blinding.Chaos is returning to order. "I've got you."

For a moment the past calms me. But my dad isn't here. I really am alone. This time nobody's got me. Nobody who hasn't kidnapped me, that is.