It's very dark wherever I am. I find myself enjoying it.

The memories are extremely selfish, from during... I guess from during the coma I was in. I was unattached to anything. There was nothing to hold me down to feelings or caring or anything. I realized that this is what flying feels like. Maybe metaphorically more than physically, but I'm sure there's an emotional level to flight. I drowned in the feeling of apathy, not caring, of just existing.

But after I had just barely touched the thought as it passed me by while I floated in a neverending void of voids upon voids, I realized that there is no point in not caring, in unattachment, in "just existing". So I woke up.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Like something had died. Then I felt an ache in my lungs and my head. The head was just a very strong headache, whereas the lungs were craving the relief only a cigarette can achieve. I opened my eyes to see myself wrapped in flimsy white sheets and laying on a not-so-comfortable bed, separated from the rest of the room by long blue curtains on either side of me. The lights were mostly off, so I assumed it was night. A heart monitor beeped steadily to my right, my pulse beating visually before me in a blatant marching-song proclaiming my existence into the eerie silence. On my left, squished into the bed with me, was a male body in black skinny jeans and a t-shirt, revealing a moon-pale arm that lay across my waist. He must've sensed I was awake, because his head came into view as he sat up beside me.

He had long black hair, so dark that it didn't reflect the single light from the ceiling, and the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen. My hand moved of its own accord to reach out and finger a strand of his silky hair, giggling at how smooth it was in my hand. I knew him, and I knew that I knew him... but I couldn't find his name. I knew that it should be in there somewhere, in the files of my brain, and it just... wasn't. Like they had been burned away. The more I tried to remember, the more my head hurt. I tried to think of situations we'd had before, of scenarios with him in them, but I couldn't even remember interacting with him.

I marveled at the way his fingers laced into mine. "Do you know who I am?" His gaze was very solemn and piercing and stern, and it scared me.

I lay there in the bed, feeling my face contort into a frustrated frown. Why can't I remember his name? Why can't I remember him? Iknow him. I do.

"My name is Quintenn. I died in 1768. I am a Strigoi. We make an annual deal since eight years ago that I'd protect you and your family in exchange for sustenance. You have a line of solid black dots tattooed down your spine, one for each year." It scared me more when the information didn't sound familiar to me, but he didn't stop there. "Two days ago, you were involved in an accident caused by the god Timor. As far as I could understand, you suffered severe injuries to your frontal lobe due to a six-by-four inch shard of glass that punctured your skull. The damage to your brain has erased parts of your memory and will forever affect your learning ability."

The most I felt was confused, and a little woozy. I didn't remember an accident, I didn't remember Quintenn, I didn't remember tattoos... I definitely remembered Joel though. And Nico. Their faces passed through my mind for a second. Yeah... they'd been in the accident, right? Joel was ok. I checked, I'm sure he's ok.

"You are not going to forget me." Quintenn drew me out of my thoughts by crawling over me and bringing his face very close to mine, our eyes inches apart. "You can't forget me. You won't forget me." And with that he forcefully pushed his lips against mine. Our eyes remained open. Somehow I wasn't surprised, which made me wonder, Did this always happen? Was our relationship like this before? I think I was too confused and dazed to really understand what was happening. But the act made my headache lessen noticeably, the cold touch spreading throughout me and soothing the soreness.

He pulled away, his gaze never leaving mine. "Someone's come to visit you. Don't forget me."

"Dude!"

As soon as the word was whispered, Quintenn disappeared like he'd never been there in the first place. I looked to the entrance of the room to see a blonde-haired, green-eyed boy my age sneaking in like a thief would. He glanced around him warily before perching in the chair beside me. "You have no idea... I just broke into a hospital to see you, man..."

Despite not knowing this person's name, I laughed at his persistence. His eyes widened in shock and he quickly reached over to cover my mouth. "You're gonna get me caught!"

I licked his hand. He whined in disgust and wiped it on his pants. "You couldn't wait until visiting hours?" I asked incredulously as he tried in desperation to sanitize his hand. "This could get you in jail if you're found out."

"But I won't be, now will I? At least if you stop laughing as loud as a hyena." He grinned when I chuckled some more, but then his face turned sad. "Are you ok?"

I shrugged, unsure if I was or not. "At the moment, I don't feel anything emotionally, except confused and happy. But I'm sure that will change. Actually... I can't remember your name, or how we met. But I remember doing stuff together."

Surprisingly he seemed rather excited. "Great! That means my last introduction can be perfected! "

"What happened last time?"

He smiled sheepishly at me as he remembered. "Well, let's just say my intro-trick wasn't very gratifying, so it's going to be better this time. But my name is Milo Greene." I smiled. Yeah. Milo. I remember now. "We're in a quest together. We were supposed to start next week, but-"

"We're still going as planned," I interrupted. I remembered enough about it to know that the other people involved were already prepared. This was a big deal. No way am I blowing it. "Once I'm recovered, we're leaving on schedule. I'll heal quickly and everything will be fine."

"Awesome!" He said it with such enthusiasm, but I could see in his eyes that he looked sad, like the delay was inevitable.

Milo stayed for hours. Sometimes we talked, other times we just sat together. The company was appreciated. Twice the nurse came in to check on the patients, and he concealed himself behind my bed and the table. I discovered a few things. Like morphine is really, really nice. And hospitals get progressively colder the longer you stay in one. And that the more tired Milo gets, the stronger his accent becomes. A few minutes before he fell asleep, he might as well have just been speaking Swedish, because I couldn't understand a word he mumbled. My body wanted to sleep too, but it couldn't shut off. The headache came creeping back.

It must've been morning because Garret walked through the curtains, carrying a thankfully intact Joel in his arms. He looked a little surprised at Milo's sleeping form slumped over in the uncomfortable folding chair, but didn't comment. Joel bubbled over with happiness at seeing me as he crawled his way into my lap.

"You have to get better soon," he whispered over and over, touching my face and examining my bandages like he was a concerned doctor.

"I'm already like, a million percent better now that you're here," I said as I nuzzled him close. He nearly squeezed me to death in a hug, but I couldn't help thinking with a smile that that would be the best way to die.

Garret sighed as he took the only remaining chair beside snoring Milo. He just stared at me over Joel's shoulder, taking me in with sad eyes. "I guess it's a good thing you got that raise," I said jokingly, conveying my guilt about him having to pay the hospital bills and car repairs. I'm sure the total price is a four digit number. He didn't laugh or speak or do anything but stare at me.

I'm just glad no one cried. Then Joel would have cried too.

The next day I was out of the hospital, with a business card for two therapists, one physical and one mental, and two prescription pills for pain and sleep. Annabeth had visited me, and we solidified the plans to begin two days from now. Nico did not visit, which made me worry a little bit, even if I didn't know what about exactly. Maybe he was afraid I wouldn't remember him? Maybe he thought I'd be a different person now? I was told I'd broken one of his ribs while trying to see if Joel was ok after the crash. Maybe he hates me for injuring him. Whatever the reason, he'd have to talk to me sometime. We'd be stuck in a car for hours together in two days. Hopefully we'll have come to some sort of conclusion by then, or else that will be really awkward.

Mandy, Joel, and I were currently seated on the un-indented and new-smelling couch watching Wizard of Oz on the much larger screen than we were used to. While Joel seated in my lap was completely absorbed in the movie, Mandy whispered to me- about now dating Jake (whose name I strangely did remember), about how she visited me in the hospital but I had been asleep, then asking if I needed something, then about a basketball game she and Jake were going to and how I should totally come. She played with my free hand, feeling the fingers like she was making sure I didn't disintegrate.

Garret was still as supportive as ever, encouraging me to do what I thought was right. "Either go on this... quest thing," he said, his eyes serious and concerned, "or give yourself some time to rest first. I personally am very... very worried about you. But I've had to live with you for a while now, and I know you're always gonna do the right thing, and you're gonna be fine."

I just tried not to think too much about anything before the crash, because it hurt a lot. Quintenn and Annabeth had said that Timor caused the accident, but they weren't sure why. It's possible he was connected to the quest and wanted to get some demigods out of the way. He knows everyone's deepest, darkest fear, and can stuff it in their faces. That explains why I saw what I did at the accident, but I hate thinking about it anyways. It was so realistic, so vivid.

Mandy fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. Her slow, even breathing echoed through my body in an extremely familiar way that brought back hollow shells of memories. Most of them involved me smoking. The yearning feeling for a cigarette, I realized, was connected to Nico somehow. I just missed him existing in the same space with me, which was not something new- at least since I had been out of a coma.

I wondered, as I stared at the Wicked Witch melting into a puddle on the floor with two sleeping people on me, if I would fall asleep myself.