Chelsea sat up in her bed with a loud gasp, her damp curls brushing lightly against her cheeks. Her eyes cast about the darkened room frantically while her brain attempted to piece together where she was. It took her a few seconds to orientate herself.

Shouldn't have looked, a sleepy, retreating voice in her head seemed to sing-song to her, almost in a whisper.

She was panting, she noticed. Rapid shallow breaths. Not good, must fix

After tightly closing her eyes and then slowly opening them a couple of times, she focused her attention on taking slow, deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. Her heart wasn't exactly cooperating with her plan, and was still beating frantically in her chest.

Just focus on breathing, girl. Slow, deep breaths. In through nose, out through mouth, like that guy said in that movie that one time. Your heart will eventually follow the example your lungs are setting for it. You'll calm down, and everything will be fine.

Well, no... that wasn't true. Nothing would ever be fine again.

She turned her head and checked the green digits on her brightly glowing alarm clock on her bedside table. Two-oh-seven in the morning. Fantastic.

After a minute or so of practicing her slow breathing, she realized that her nightshirt was once again moist with perspiration, as were her loose tangles of hair. It was beginning to seem kind of pointless to shower every night before bed, given how frequently she'd been having the night terrors as of late. Nights where she wasn't jolted awake in the wee hours of the morning drenched in sweat were becoming few and far between.

Had she screamed this time, or cried out, or otherwise violated the sacred rule of 'thou shalt not wake up Granny'? It didn't feel like she'd used her voice recently, but how her throat felt upon waking was never a very accurate indicator, really. Nor was whether or not Granny actually came to her bedroom to check on her. Sometimes she would sleep through these little 'events' of Chelsea's, or at least pretend to, which was usually for the best given the sort of depressing 'do you realize what time it is?' tone she would use when dutifully checking in on her.

And this would make it the fourth night in a row something like this had happened. She didn't even want to think about how tight-lipped and cranky Granny would be if she was forced to drag her fat ass out of bed and 'console' Chelsea tonight.

Chelsea went still and listened carefully for any sort of indication that Granny was awake. After a few seconds of perfect silence, she heard a voice speaking in conversational tones. It sounded as though it was coming from the whereabouts of the kitchen.

"The beast stirs," she whispered to herself, and then immediately she chided herself for the unkind thought.

That sort of mean-spirited thinking wasn't fair, not even a little bit. Objectively speaking, Granny had been pretty good about this whole situation, really. Still, though the two of them had never discussed how this bizarre living arrangement had come about, Chelsea maintained the impression that Granny believed this whole thing to be her fault . . . like she was to blame for showing up here like some baby in a basinet left on the old woman's doorstep.

Likely that was the source of their standoffishness - why the two of them never seemed to get along. Chelsea knew this situation wasn't her fault, and she refused to be bullied into thinking otherwise, simple as that. Whenever Granny started bitching or moaning about her sudden and unexpected responsibilities since Chelsea's arrival, or the lack of proper peace and quiet around her house as of late, Chelsea would fire back with a pointed barb about her sudden and unexpected lack of parents. That sort of statement was usually enough to ensure at least ten minutes of complete silence around the house.

Chelsea snorted softly. If you could even call this place a 'house'.

There's nothing quite as sarcastic as air quotes.

One of the primary reasons Granny got the peace and quiet that she did was because of this place she was holed up in - a cabin built halfway up the side of a tree-strewn foothill, three miles outside of (more air-quotes) 'town'. No roads leading to it, and certainly no car, for Granny herself didn't drive anywhere. No, the only access to this little place was via one of two footpaths that forked about ten feet from the front of the house and led in opposite directions down the hill. Chelsea had only made the descent and climb back up a few times in the time she'd been here, and Granny never left this place at all, it seemed. Maybe if she walked into town a little more often she'd be in better shape, complain less about her aching joints, and perhaps not make that god-awful groan every time she tried to get out of her chair.

Chelsea heard more talking. Granny's voice, a little louder than before. She frowned.
What was she doing up at two in the morning? And who exactly was she talking with?
Burning curiosity got the better of her, and she quickly slid out of bed and into her slippers, wrapping her a knitted afghan around her shoulders to prevent the worst of the evening chill from reaching her damp nightshirt. Once she'd arrived at the draped curtain that served as a 'door' (ooo, those darn air-quotes again) she brought her face nearest the side she usually pulled away and peeked her head through into the next room.

It was Granny alright, with her back turned to her, a phone receiver held up to her ear. Chelsea would have referred to the antiquated corded monstrosity as a 'phone', but she was starting to get tired of using air-quotes to describe the things around Granny's place. It just got depressing to do after a while.

Granny was standing as she talked, which was just downright weird. Not merely standing, either, but actually walking around in place, despite the fact that the base of the phone sat on a table right next to her favorite chair. The woman was actually on her feet and pacing as she talked, though she could have just as easily accomplished everything she was currently doing from a seated position. Very, very strange.

Chelsea tilted her head to one side in order to hear things a little bit better.

"-another thing . . . that crap you pulled in Minsk? After something like that, do you honestly believe that I-"

There was a fairly lengthy long pause.

"No, that's not what happened, and you know it! And the very fact that you'd-"

Yet another lengthy pause.

Dear lord . . . someone was actually interrupting her! Her!

"Oh, don't you dare go there! Don't you dare bring that up! After everything I did to pull your goddamned fat out of the fire that night, if you even think about bringing that up, I will march out of this cabin and fly to Cardiff for the express purpose of kicking your ungrateful, skinny little ass! If we're talking about debts and how much they mean, why don't we take a moment to talk about Berlin? Hmm?"

Another pause.

"Yeah, I didn't think so. And given everything, for you not even to consider-" she began, at which point she both paused and began to look a bit constipated. She listened to the phone receiver she was holding, then looked at it, then listened to it once more.

After a good minute or so it looked as though Granny's impressive jowls were on the verge of exploding. The more expressive portions of her cheek were twitching, and she took a deep, relaxing breath before beginning her next sentence.

"But she doesn't belong here! You of all people have to know that! I mean . . . here! There's no way she'll-" There was another jowl-quivering pause, followed by an appalled look of consternation directed at the phone receiver Granny was currently holding. An instant later it was back in place, jammed against the side of her head. "Now you just wait one goddamned minute! This isn't about something like that at all! I loved my son with all of my heart, and I trust his judgment to this day! I may not have been on the best of terms with the woman he decided to marry, but the color of- . . . what did you say? Oh! How dare you! The fact that you would even insinuate that I- . . ."

Oh. Oh!

That's what this phone call was about.

Chelsea discovered that her jaw was clenched. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to back away from her curtain-slash-door. After a while she had to remind herself to keep breathing.
Of course that's what this was all about . . . .

The 'half-black' factor. Always a 'thing', especially given her current geographical situation. And given the brief glimpses she'd gotten of the people who lived around here, the tiny little town of Griefswald should probably be renamed to something like 'Vanillaville'. Yes, of course that's what the issue was.

Funny how it was never 'half-white' in these sorts of situations, how it was the other half of her - her mother's half - that always seemed to matter most.

In through nose, and out through mouth, kid. Yeah, you can do it, champ. Focus power, Chelsea-san.

Yeah. She'd handle this. She'd kicked racism's ass a few dozen times back in Jersey, after all. Stupid, judgmental people only mattered if you let them. Screw all y'all . . . .

To hell with these decrepit, aging, almost-dead folk and their antiquated ideas regarding what was 'normal'. Chelsea knew what was up, and what she was up against.

The next words out of Granny's mouth just seemed to solidify things for her.

"Look, I don't give a goddamn what you've got going on right now in merry little England, or how inconvenient this whole situation might be for you. It's pretty goddamned inconvenient for me, let me tell you! She's a different circumstance entirely, and you know exactly what I mean! She won't mix here, alright? She's not equipped! You need to take her, because if you don't, I . . . I don't even know." Another pause. "No! She's . . . there's no way! At all! And you of all people should- . . . no, no! You . . . you're the one who needs to hold on a goddamn second, because-"

That was the point when Chelsea decided she'd had enough. She didn't need to listen to any more of this. Pulling her head back, she allowed the curtain fall back into place before retreating a couple of steps, turning, and then throwing herself face-first onto her bed.

She felt like curling up into a little ball and weeping, but she didn't. She wouldn't. She promised herself that would never happen - never again. After all she'd experienced, everything she'd been through, there wasn't a single other thing in the world that was worth her shedding another tear over.

So rather than crying, she punched her mattress. A lot.

And her pillow.

After a while she started wishing she had other things around her to punch, but those two were the softest, and she'd have to make do with what she had.

Once she figured her bedding had taken enough punishment for one evening she took a moment to collect herself, flipped herself over onto her back, took a few deep breaths, and then proceeded to stare up at the ceiling. She'd been doing that a lot since she'd arrived here, she realized.

She wouldn't be staying here long. Even if Granny didn't manage to convince whoever that was she was talking to over the phone into taking her, Chelsea knew she wouldn't be staying long. She'd find her own way out of this place if she had to. Granny was a pretty deep sleeper, after all. And most of her stuff - or rather, the stuff she'd been allowed to bring here - hadn't even been unpacked yet. Two duffel bags of clothing? Piece of cake.

She didn't need this place, or Granny, or anybody. She'd be fine.

All that was needed was a plan.

Chelsea glanced at her clock. It was now two-nineteen in the freaking morning.

Great.

She grabbed her afghan and whatever blankets she could locate in the mostly-dark of her room and attempted to wrap them around her. Then, after getting somewhat comfortable, she grit her teeth and punched her pillow one more time, just for good measure.

Plans would have to wait for now. A day, maybe two at the most. But for now she had to focus on staying night-terror free, maybe even catch a couple more hours of sleep before morning.
After all, her first day of classes was tomorrow. She had school to attend.

Of course, Chelsea already had a sneaking suspicion she'd be putting air-quotes around the word 'school' once she actually saw the place.