Anaya stared at the set of applications to JBU as if she could will them complete. Her conviction to see this through still stood strong. But it was now fueled by a lot more than hope. Fury at her teenage self for not taking her life more seriously. Anger at her parents for not pushing her harder towards a college education. Exasperation with the fact that if they had done so, she might have just pushed back harder.

She tapped her pen vigorously against the antique table. Anaya had thought that sitting in the bright and airy dining room of her parents' house would help. She lifted her eyes to the window and stared at nothing in particular outside. The chrysanthemum flowers, adorned in shades of russet and gold, seemed to regard her curiously with their greenish faces. And the pansies appeared alive, peering at her from their bed, winking with their yellow eyes while they danced in the wind. The change of scenery had in fact had done her some good, but not for long. Today was not turning out to be a good day.

Her doctor's brain was telling her she was spiraling. The duality of her older mind in a younger body, the secret of her time travel that could condemn her as insane if she told anyone, the pressure of choosing a better life for herself and navigating the road to that future... it was building up. She knew she needed medical attention.

Just as soon as I finish applying to college, and changing my future.

She exhaled a long breath and read over the next question on the application.

"How would your favorite teacher describe you?"

Anaya's right hand reached up to massage her temple, willing the memories to come. She wasn't even sure she had a favorite teacher in high school. Despite reliving her life in her teenage body - the memories of what her teen self did before last week were over twenty years old. They hadn't been accessed in decades and some of these memories weren't strong or important to her originally anyway.

Well, it can't be Mr. Potts from P.E. who just gave me an earful yesterday.

There wasn't much she could say when he shared his disappointment at her regular sick notes, forgetting the required uniform for a week's designated sport and not getting close to her personal bests.

Clearly, I'd given up giving a damn since I'd decided to drop out.

Anaya ran through each of her courses in her head. English definitely wasn't her strong suit, neither was music, or economics. She wasn't failing those classes, but she was far from the star pupil.

The only subject she excelled at since her return was Biology, thanks to her doctor's brain. Their teacher, Mr. Andrews aka Mr. Sex Ed., had smiled brighter with every right answer.

He also sighed harder when I argued another approach to an experiment to arrive at the identical results.

It would have to do.

So... he'd say I was smart, persistent, and logical. Sounds about right.

It hadn't always been this bad. Anaya had one fond memory that was sharper than the others. Clearly it had meant something to her younger self.

It was her first day at Emberswick Middle School. She had been shy and awkward but Mrs. Singh had called on her in the middle of class, encouraging her to speak up and "have her say." Keen to make a good impression, Anaya had gradually become more vocal and started expressing her emotions, earning applause and praise from Mrs. Singh.

That one teacher had the power to change my entire experience.

She bent back down over the forms and regarded the next page.

"What have your challenges taught you?"

Not to drop out of school. Not to choose a career out of a misplaced sense of duty. Not to trust men.

Wait. Where did that come from?

As if her thoughts broke through a wall buried within, a memory of her past life burst through in full force.

A short man with shaggy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes smiling at her in a club. The two of them dating. Him leading her to a room.

She'd know that man anywhere. Any lifetime.

Antonio.

More memories streamed in, faster and faster.

Him hovering over her, his eyes glazed. Her cowering as he dissolved into a frenzy in his drug-indeed state. She losing consciousness when one of his kicks breaks her left arm.

The room suddenly felt like it was closing in and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't feel the table in front of her, the chair felt like it had disappeared right out from under her, and she was numb to everything in the room. The tapestries lost their splash of vibrant color, the tabletop was coarse compared to the clean, polished finish it had a moment before. The air was suddenly ripped from her lungs and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't gulp enough in. She was drowning.

She had to get out. Had to get free.

Anaya rushed to the closet, wrenched her jacket free, threw open her front door and burst into the chilly, autumn afternoon. Her jacket wasn't even zipped before she started running as far and for as long as her lungs could stand.

The familiar background of her home passed by her in a blur. Darting around corners, she barely registered the streets she passed or the cars she nearly collided with as she dashed through the streets.

Anaya knew that memory. She'd dated Antonio for years, gone back to him every time. But that time, he'd gone too far. When she'd finally regained consciousness, battered, bruised, and infected, she'd limped to the safest place she could think of. She stayed in that women's shelter for six months, healing fractured bones, multiple STDs from the rape, and depression. It had been her motivation to go back to night school and become a doctor.

Fueled by rage at God, or whoever else came up with the preposterous concept of free will, Anaya turned more corners. Her lungs felt like they were about to burst out of her chest, and her legs grew more and more tired with each stride. She felt the stretch of her muscles rebelling against her and still she pushed on.

My challenges were cruel to the core.

With so many choices to make in life, the line was hair-thin between success and failure, having money or being broke, being loved or hated, alive or dead. What made matters so much worse was circumstance. Her circumstances were rigged against her. The bankruptcy, her father's drinking, her getting mixed up with Antonio... all of it had been obstacles that her naive, seventeen-year-old self couldn't possible handle. No one showed her how to navigate the pressures of her adolescence. No one told teenagers that the choices you make today can affect you twenty years into the future. No one told her that she could take control of her life and her illness and find a better way to manage it. She'd walked right into a predators arms.

Her legs rebelled at last and she fell to her knees, crawling into a ball on the sidewalk. Wheezing, she hugged herself, pushing back against the burn of muscle spasms, and pressing against the stitch in her side. This was almost worse than the claustrophobia. She felt like she physically couldn't get enough oxygen, the air was too thin. Her legs and arms felt too heavy and she couldn't move. She tried to lift her head up, as if that would force the air to flow down her windpipe. But in the split second it took her to look from ground to sky, she recognized her surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat at the familiar white-bricked building. The tall iron gates in front of her beckoned her inside, and the cobblestone walkway rolled out like a red carpet. Suddenly, the lack of air was too much for her to take and she felt herself slipping away.

Anaya's world cut to black.

When she came to she was lying down on something only slightly familiar. There was a beeping sound close by she couldn't place. She splayed her fingers out across the fabric underneath her and realized they were hospital sheets. She had to press her eyes closed against the light that blinded her. Squinting through the tiniest slits she could manage, Anaya's vision went from seeing multiple, then double, to eventually single. A TV was mounted on the wall in front of her, her clothes were on the chair to her left and a bottle above her was dripping liquid through a tube attached to her arm. The smell of... iodine grew with each breath she took. Then the beeping sped up as she remembered where she'd been.

"You're okay now, Anaya." A nurse with warm brown eyes and long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail appeared from behind the curtains. "You just passed out. They found you outside St. Jude's Retirement Home. An administrator called the ambulance and they brought you here."

Anaya's scanned the ceiling while her mind worked everything out. She recognized the symptoms of her hypomania all too well. She'd been flying from one idea to the next all week and gravely overestimated her physical abilities. The distance from their house to St. Jude's represented a half-marathon, while finishing a 10k at school was usually a struggle for her. How had she not noticed sooner?

The beeps intensified.

The nurse noticed and in one fluid motion, sank the syringe she held into the IV. Anaya watched the drug seem into the tube and protectively pulled the blanket up to her chin before she began to float.

Discarding the syringe the nurse turned to her with a gentle, but tired smile. Despite the fatigue etched across her face, she was very pretty. "Your parents will be here soon. Try to get some rest."

Then, she left, and Anaya was alone. Her exhaustion was too much to handle, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

She didn't know how long she was out for, but she woke to the familiar phrase, "Hey, kid."

She peeled her eyes open and turned her head toward the sound. Her father was sitting in the hospital chair beside her bed. He stroked her head, the subtle touch of his fingertips against her scalp soothed her and she relaxed a bit before taking a closer look at him. He looked like he'd aged overnight. His skin was flaky. Plenty of fluid seemed to have collected under his eyes though.

In a black cotton shirt, her father still possessed many of the physical attributes of his youth. The muscles in his slightly tanned arms flexed where he leaned against the mattress. His jawline was still sharp, just covered in stubble.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

"I'm fine, Dad." She smiled through her concern.

"Anaya, you ran halfway across town and was found unconscious..." His steady voice began to rise.

"Seriously, Dad. I'm feeling fine. Just ran myself flat out."

Her father ran his eyes over her once more. Seeming to relax just a little, he said, "You get that from me, you know."

The words rang clear in her doctor's mind. "Along with your amazingly good looks , what else have I gotten from you?"

He nodded at her. "Those too, but I meant the playing it down with our charming wit, rather than addressing the issue head-on." He continued to stroke her hair.

Anaya closed her eyes. She knew she should have gotten help earlier. She'd been so caught up in not dropping out of school and fixing her future that she'd ignored her health.

But this visit to the hospital could provide the perfect opportunity to get her diagnosed. Then she wouldn't have to hide it anymore. Anaya could be honest with her friends, instead of running away from them every time she couldn't find a viable excuse for how she was acting. She could also help her dad.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I've been having a lot of ups and downs recently. Not just emotionally, but mentally too. Do you feel like that sometimes?"

Her father just blinked at her. "Honey, you know what's happening to the business and the house and..."

It's always easier to blame in on the situation rather than delve deeper into yourself.

"Of course." Anaya tried again. "Well, how do you deal with it?"

If he'd looked bad before, then he looked shattered now. It was one thing to be unable to help your child, but to admit you yourself were dealing with it by drinking your woes away?

She shook her head. "Well, since we're already here, would it be all right for me to see a doctor about it?"

Her father's brows furrowed. Then something like recognition seemed to flash in his eyes. He tried to sound calm, but Anaya could hear the slight tremble in his voice. "Of course. Let me see what they can do. Mom's on her way." He dad cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and walked back into the hallway.

Perhaps what you learn IS forever.

As incredulous as it sounded, Anaya's medical knowledge had stayed with her. When her father said she'd inherited something from him, she'd instantaneously remembered that bipolar disorder had a chance of being passed down genetically. She'd been so dead set on fixing herself, on finding ways around her illness that she never let herself fully understand it. Or it's connection to anyone else.

All the years she'd spent confused by her own actions, guilty about how she was treating those around her. Anaya didn't want to relive any of it. She wouldn't. She'd get diagnosed and then she'd find a way to steer the doctors toward the meds she knew were helping and stay away from the ones she'd had years to learn were more harmful.

But what if she were to find she'd gotten the disorder from her dad? Would he agree to be treated too? Would he feel guilty he'd passed it down to her? She tried to recall what happened to him in the future, but got no further than the bankruptcy.

Damn it! If knowledge can be retained, why can't these memories come back?

She knew her tests would come back positive, she could handle that. But what if the probability, or the confirmation, sent him spiraling further into drinking? 

But Anaya knew it couldn't be avoided. It had to be done, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad? If she could get passed having bipolar II so could Marcus Jones. After all, she'd inherited a lot from him.

Exhaustion began to settle over her once more. She turned to look out of her room, past the curtain, into the hallway. Her father wasn't back yet. He was probably still on the phone with her mother, or maybe talking to a doctor about the tests.

His words came back to her once more. I meant the playing it down with our charming wit, rather than addressing the issue head-on. There was something to be said about that mentality. Even if Anaya was scared, she could keep a level head. Her father was the same way. He'd get through this, the same as she had. She'd make sure he did.