I awoke.

I gasped. Not from the need for air but from the memories from that man. Frantically looking around for him, I realized I was no longer in the cold alleyway where the man left me. I was in my bedroom, dressed in my patched up pajamas. My mattress underneath me felt so soft underneath my touch, much different than the hard concrete I had to endure the night before. 

As I had that thought, I reached up to my neck where the man bit me. I couldn't feel anything, not even a indent. It might have just been a dream, it had to be. That's what I convinced myself at least. It was only way to get myself out of bed and get on with my day. 

I left my bed, stepping onto the hardwood floor. The cold of the wood would usually make me shiver but today it didn't bother me. I reached over and opened my drawer that was beside my bed and searched for what to wear. 

"Where's my...?" I trailed off as I realized that the forest green sweater from my 'dream' wasn't in the drawer with my clean clothes. I quickly turned around and rushed to my dirty clothes pile that laid on the floor. On top of the pile laid the same forest green sweater with a blood stain on the same side my injury occurred. My eyes widened as I realized that last night wasn't just a dream. It actually happened, but how did I get back home? 

As if on instinct, my mom called out to me from across the house. "Cass, breakfast!" Startled, I whipped my head toward my open bedroom door. I buried my sweater into the rest of my dirty clothes in hopes that she wont find it and freak out. 

"Coming!" I left my dirty pile of clothes and put on something similar to last night. A simple hand knit sweater tucked in high waist jeans and sneakers. I left my hair the way it is, putting a hair tie on my wrist to put it up in a bun for later. 

I went into the kitchen and saw my mom cooking breakfast. I sniffed the air, expecting the delectable essence of fatty bacon and the sweetness of pancakes. What I expected isn't what I got. It was a dirty, musty smell, like an old basement. If I didn't know she was cooking, I wouldn't know there was food to be eaten. 

As if feeling my gaze, my mom turned around with that genuine smile she always had. "Good morning, sunshine! You were up late last night." She stated as she plated the rest of breakfast onto our plates. "I hope you're hungry." She carefully laid the fluffy vanilla pancakes in the center of the plate and piling up the bacon on the side. Usually I would be drooling. 

"Um, yeah, thank you. Sorry if I woke you up." I sat down at the dinner table and gave her a small, forced smile. I still didn't know what all happened last night, no reason to make her worried. She was already wearing her uniform and apron. Mom was a cook at the diner a few blocks down. Her food is everyone's favorite here in Alpena, Michigan. She'd been working there for as long as I can remember. 

I grabbed the fork on the table as she handed me my plate and sat across from me. Mom grabbed hers as well and started to dig in. I just stared at the pieces of crisp pork and pancakes. My hand faintly shook as I forced myself to stab into the cake. My stomach started to squirm as I thought about attempting to take a bite. 

Mom noticed and sighed . "Is it not done?" She asked as she poked at her cakes with her fork to investigate. "I can put it into the skillet for a little longer." I looked up at her disgruntled face as she carefully checked her pancakes for any uncooked parts. 

"No it's okay. I'm just really tired. You're cooking is perfect, like always." She smiled and shrugged off my odd behavior before continuing to eat. I mentally groaned as I cut off a piece of pancake and lifted it to my lips. I chomped down on the cake and instantly regretted it. It tasted like dirt and rotten meat. I covered my mouth in attempt not to gag and ran to the bathroom. My mother called my name, asking if I was okay. I gave her no answer.

I closed the door behind me and spat out the barely chewed piece of pancake out onto my hand. I huffed, trying to regain my breath as I stared at the food in my hand. 'Mom's cooking is always so good. So...why?' I thought as I threw the mush into the toilet and flushed it. 

My hands clutched onto the bathroom sink as I leaned over it. I turned on the water and washed my face. I sighed as I patted my face dry with a hand towel. My memories about last night and events of this morning stayed in my thoughts. That man, my bloodied sweater, my neck, the cold, mom's food. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. As I thought about those events, my stomach growled.

"Cassandra! What's wrong?" I heard my mom call. Her footsteps getting closer to the bathroom. I stared at the door with somewhat of a heavy breath. She knocked and my stomach growled. I could smell her from the other side of the door. Her smell resembled honey glazed ham, very different than her normal French vanilla perfume. My hand shakily reached for the platinum bathroom doorknob. As my fingers touched the handle, I licked my lips.  

I'm hungry.