Holding On

All I had to do was remember the story the government had concocted. It would be super easy, barely an inconvenience. I basically had to tell a vague version of the truth and just replace aliens with terrorists (go figure).

Most of the story would be spun by the Men In Black designated to my case—Agent Rawlins and Agent Cooper. All I had to do was answer questions after they'd done most of the talking.

Not even my own parents had asked me about the incident, so I hadn't needed to tell them the fake story. It seemed they were too busy worrying about whether or not they were going to upset me.

The closest I'd come to a lecture was hearing myself mentioned when they yelled at Kristie over the phone. They did it out in the hall where they thought I couldn't hear them.

Apparently, my sister had been inches away from the same fate as I. She'd gone out there with her friend to meet our group.

The only thing that had kept her from suffering the same fate was the fact that she had shown up late to the party.

Dad couldn't help but point out every few minutes that the cops had saved her life by picking her and her friend up. That she could have died out there.

That I had been lucky. I'd already suffered all the punishment I needed.

That was going to be fun: dealing with my sister's wrath. She was taking all the heat and I wasn't even being chastised for breaking the law.

At least neither of us had any charges filed against us.

At least my brother was too young to have even known about the ship. He was only in elementary school, so all we told him was that I had been in an accident and wouldn't be able to do anything for a long while.

Including soccer.

That killed me the most. It was the only activity I had besides school. The only thing I enjoyed and participated in since I had learned to walk.

At least, that was how it seemed. Now it was gone and I had a long life of doing nothing but minor exercises to keep from degrading into a fat and lazy slob.

I was useless now.

Probably would be forever.

Wolf wouldn't even want me anymore, if he had at all. I still wasn't 100% sure what the plan had been. Maybe he'd always meant to return me.

Well, I could at least hope that maybe something good would happen for once. Maybe physical therapy would go super awesome well that I could bypass the whole threat.

/Yeah, as if I deserved that./

In the end, though, I was just glad that my parents had been so supportive instead of angry. It was like they had decided I had been punished enough that grounding me or taking away privileges would be redundant.

I mean really, what was left for them to take away from me?

For the next six and a half weeks, I was under strict orders to use crutches. So, even if they wanted to take away any privileges, there was literally nothing I could do.

I was fine with never leaving the house again, too.

Besides that, all of my friends were dead. Wasn't like there was anyone left for me to hang out with. My teammates were just teammates, and I'd lost a couple of those to the aliens, as well.

As we left the hospital, Dad walked behind me while the nurse pushed me out in a wheelchair. Hospital policy.

Mom was next to me, wringing her hands, and I had my fox plush on my lap. I was finally in some real clothes, too—no more airy hospital gowns that left little to the imagination.

My mom had picked out a pair of my jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. My favorite jacket had been destroyed during my struggle for survival, so she let me borrow one of her extras.

That was the one great thing about where the breaks in my leg bones were: my initial surgery had made casts moot and I'd sat through most of the initial, post-surgery healing process in that damn hospital bed.

I was too old to be in one of those ass casts, and the pins keeping my knee together were enough. I still wasn't free to walk around as I pleased, but that was what the crutches and stiff braces were for—at least until I was cleared to start PT.

Six weeks was still six weeks, though. It was good enough for me that I wasn't in a wheelchair forever. I only had to deal with the one until I made it outside the hospital.

"Don't say anything to anyone, just go straight to your car," Agent Rawlins instructed. He was a beast of a man. Maybe not as tall as Wolf but almost as muscular, with dark enough skin that he was something of a novelty in our small city.

He and his partner Agent Cooper, a gangly Jim Carrey-esque man, were escorting us through the hospital.

Agent Cooper continued where his partner left off. "We're going to hold a press conference later in the week so the vultures can wait until then."

Mom picked and threaded her fingers through my hair nervously despite how many times I swatted her away with my hand.

She asked, "What about when we get home? I don't want them bombarding us every time we leave the house!"

"We'll try to keep them away from your home, but I can't really guarantee anything," Agent Cooper sighed.

Agent Rawlins grunted and rolled his shoulders. "We'll throw around words like 'national security' and 'Patriot Act' and we should be able to pull together some reason to keep them away from you. I'm sure the press conference will satisfy them enough to make them go away."

"How?" my dad asked.

"We'll go over that with you after you've settled in, probably a day before the conference. For now, just take your daughter home. She'll need some rest before her therapy begins tomorrow," Agent Cooper suggested with a furtive glance in my direction.

I glowered into my lap and sighed inwardly. 'Therapy'. right. More like 'interrogation'.

The door loomed closer and I went rigid, my knuckles white as I clutched the armrests. Even from where I was, I could see the people hanging out by the door.

"Can't we go out the back?" I whined.

"Unfortunately, there is no back."

/Great./

Thank the high heavens that I wouldn't have to talk. For now, anyway. I wasn't in the mood to be seen let alone speak in front of whoever the hell was out there waiting.

Not when I was still covered in bandages, my bruises not quite healed and still unsightly. Not when I hadn't had a real shower or a decent night's sleep for the past few days, dreading this very moment.

A few days had turned into almost a whole week in that hospital.

Sunlight blinded me for a brief moment as the nurse wheeled me out of the hospital. There weren't nearly as many reporters as I had been expecting, but there was a crowd of people and some cameras.

Parents that I recognized, some that I didn't. They were all in an uproar when they spotted me and the agents.

"Where's my son? Did he—?"

"What happened—?"

"Can you tell everyone listening how—?"

"Is she really the only—?"

"I haven't seen my daughter, is—?"

I turned my head away and brought my closed fists to my chest, curling into a ball to make myself as small as possible. Maybe I'd disappear.

Agent Rawlings lifted his hand and pushed a camera away when it was moved too close. "You'll have a chance to ask your questions when we make an official announcement. In the time being, we ask that you respect this very brave young lady and her family's privacy. She still has a lot of recovering to do after the horrors she's been through."

"Hey," Agent Cooper snapped at someone out of my vision, "get back! Have some decency."

More and more questions were shouted at us and the police present did their best to hold the line while I was pushed to my dad's Pathfinder. I kept my head down and let Mom hold my hand.

Some of the voices I recognized, but most of them were a jumbled mixture of everyone hollering and throwing questions at the same time, not all of them for me.

Between clenching my eyes shut and humming one of my favorite songs to distract myself, we reached the car. I was startled when my dad scooped me up and set me down in the back seat, but I settled in and buckled up while he closed the door.

Once he'd taken the crutches from the nurse who had come with us and tossed them in the back, we were off. I tried to keep my head down so I could avoid looking out into the crowd at all of the disappointed and desperate faces.

Afraid, above all, that I would recognize some of them—and that they'd be angry.

And they'd have every right to be.

I'd survived and no one else had. I was mad at myself for letting my friends die. I wished someone more deserving had taken my place.

"Everything's gonna be okay now, baby. You're coming home," my mom crooned from the passenger seat.

She was turned all the way around and made a big enough smile that I couldn't help but return the gesture, even if there was no true feeling behind it.

It was late enough in the day that traffic wasn't bad and we got home in record time. I pretty much went straight to my room, changed into pajamas, and just sat in bed with the lights off.

Maybe I should have tried to maybe get up and do something, but I was still exhausted and in a good deal of pain from all my procedures. The percocet I'd been prescribed was helping to keep it manageable, though.

Mom brought dinner to my room, and I ate as much as I could before bringing the plates down myself. I had to figure out how to navigate the stairs somehow.

Then it was right back up to my room, avoiding eye contact with my sister the whole way.

I took one of the sleeping pills they'd suggested to see if they would help. I was tired. I was depressed. I wasn't looking forward to the next day. So, I just wanted to sleep.

But the dreams . . . the nightmares . . .

When I was little, I would always sleep with a nightlight. Once again I was considering it, but I didn't want to fall back on that old crutch. Not when I hadn't used one in years.

What was a nightmare compared to the real thing, anyway?

Just as bad, but not worse.

I could hear squealing coming from the dark. It grew louder and louder until it was right in my ear. Right on top of me.

/There's something wrong./

The ship had been destroyed, all the eggs killed and the queen dead. There wasn't anything for me to be afraid of anymore.

Right?

Then why did it feel like that wasn't true? Why was I staring at a thin, looming shadow just at the edge of my bed?

It wouldn't come into focus, but it was there all the same. A dark, blurry shadow that hissed. I tried to open my mouth to scream, tried to recoil to the wall where I could protect myself, but my body wouldn't move.

I was in my bed. I could feel it, but my mind wasn't convinced it was real.

I'd thought for sure that I was awake. I was in my room—the door was right there, a sliver of light seeping out from the crack over the floor.

/Then why can't I move?/

Inside my ribcage, my heart was beating a mile a minute, constricting my chest like a vice. Panic clouded my mind and still that shadow stared and hissed.

The sleep paralysis didn't last long. I was soon able to blink, and by the time I opened my eyes again, the phantasm was gone.

The shadows in my room started to take shape—my dresser and computer desk, my varsity jacket hanging from the doorknob, and the pile of stuffed animals in the corner next to my closet.

Finally able to act, I slid closer to the wall and further from the edge of my bed, eyes darting around my room to look for more danger.

Fear still held me captive as I searched for the drone that had invaded my room, but there was nothing.

When I lifted my hand to brush the hair from my face, my fingers came away wet. I rubbed the tears from my eyes and focused on gaining control of my breathing.

The lights. I needed to turn on the lights.

/How? I can't leave my bed—it's safe in my bed./

I spread out on my stomach and groped around until I felt the handle of one of my crutches. My heart was still racing and I felt like turning on the lights was life or death. All I could think was that I should have put on a stupid night light.

Maybe I could throw something at the light switch. All I had around me was the one pillow I slept on and then my alarm clock.

Out of options, I took my crutches again. It looked like I was going to have to leave my bed, leave the safety and warmth and security. Nothing could touch me on my safe haven, covered in blankets.

It was all ridiculous. There was nothing in my room except my own belongings. And yet, I still expected something to leap out and attack me at a moment's notice.

I was the only living thing in the room! I had nothing to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, I tucked my arms under the crutches and hobbled across the room. I slapped the switch and illuminated every last corner in my room.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

After I swallowed the lump in my throat, I leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor, one hand covering my face.

For a few minutes, I sat like that, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. The nightmare-induced tears had stopped, at least, and I was able to wipe the last traces away.

A scratching at the door startled me and I managed to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming. I held my hands over my mouth, eyes closed, and waited.

The scratching came again and my heart jumped into my throat. Slowly, through trembling shoulders and shaky knees, I lowered my hands and leaned forward enough to look at the door. On the other side, a shadow paced back and forth.

There was something there.

My breath refused to catch and I clutched at my crutch, pulling it up and against me. It was a pretty solid piece of metal—I should be able to use it to bludgeon something with.

However, before I could work up the courage to open the door and smack whatever was on the other side, the scratching started again and was followed by a familiar whining. Then, an even more familiar sniffing.

/Stupid dog!/

I was finally able to relax and I pulled myself up to turn the knob. Our black lab didn't let the door finish opening before he was rushing in, whimpering the whole time.

"Shh, Atlas, you're going to wake up the whole house," I chided him.

Ignoring me, Atlas paced my room for several minutes with his nose glued to the ground. He wasn't quiet about it, so I was forced to shut my bedroom door so he wouldn't wake anyone.

No matter what I did to try and bring him back to my side, he paced and searched until he seemed satisfied.

"Find anything, boy?" I cooed, my voice subdued.

Even though the last vestiges of the nightmare had receded into the deep recesses of my mind, I couldn't help my wandering eyes.

He bounded up and stood in front of me, his whole body shaking with the vigorous way he wagged his tail. He knew better than to try to jump on me and instead set a single paw atop my knee and licked at my hand.

I sighed and gave him the pats he was looking for and rubbed his floppy ears until he stopped whining and sat down.

The effect his presence had was instantaneous. Fear seeped out of my body and I watched him as he leaned into my hand and panted, looking up at me with his dark eyes, as if asking if I was okay.

"It's alright boy. Only a dream," I murmured.

I continued to pet and murmur nonsense to my knight in shining fur, allowing myself time to calm down. Atlas wasn't the most well-behaved dog, but he seemed to have realized enough to know that I needed him to be still.

The occasional warm, slobbery kiss on my hand was not unwelcome, either. He usually slept in his kennel in the living room, but they must have let him out for the night.

Had I been making that much noise while I was dreaming that he would come to see me?

My dog reared back and put his second paw on my lap and shuffled forward so he could set his head down over his paws. I still couldn't bring a smile to my face, but at least I was no longer terrified.

The adrenaline rush ebbed and exhaustion set back in. I pushed Atlas back to the floor and hobbled to bed, leaving the light on.

He followed after me, his tail wagging as if to reassure me.

Now that I wasn't half asleep and running from hallucinations, it was easier to crawl into bed than it had been to crawl out of it.

It took a lot of grunting and hissing in pain, but I managed to twist into a position I could sleep in and I flopped down onto my pillow. I had intentionally left my overhead lights on to help me sleep,like I was a child afraid of the dark.

/Nichole, the girl who fought through a hive of vicious, parasitic aliens couldn't sleep without the lights on in her room./

At least Wolf wasn't there to see me. I could already imagine that disdainful way he'd turn his head, the way he'd grumble.

He was probably already gone.

I was suddenly met with the wide, flat tongue of a needy dog. Groaning, I turned away with a jerk and pushed his muzzle away from my face.

"Atlas, oh my god." I rubbed my face on my sleeve.

He huffed in response and I felt the bed sag as he leaped onto it. Then he buried his nose in my hair and whuffed around, tangling the strands and covering my head with slobber.

"Atlas," I whined, turning my head and pushing furiously on his nose.

Finally, he pulled back and then pawed at my shoulder. I sighed and rolled the best I could onto my side and laid my hand on his ribs.

"If you want to sleep in my bed you're going to have to behave."

Atlas cocked his head to the side and clicked his teeth together. I watched him a moment, then pushed myself closer to the wall to allow him more space to spread out.

I had a double-size bed so there wasn't a whole lot of room, but at least enough that the two of us should have been able to find comfort. I pat the space next to me and Atlas shimmied forward until he could lay his head on the pillow, then glanced at me.

"It's alright, boy . . . just for tonight," I said through a yawn.

There was a moment where I fought to yank the comforter out from under the fat lard, but I finally managed to pull enough free to cover myself and settled in for a hard night.

I was much more relaxed lying there with something fuzzy and warm and ALIVE with me.

Now I could tell myself that if anything were to come and attack me, Atlas would be the first to know. He would be the first alarm to start going off. Maybe he wouldn't be able to protect me, but at least he would be able to give me some warning.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

Throughout the night, nightmares continued to wake me up. Each time it happened, I groped blindly until I felt Atlas' fur at my fingertips, curled up in the crook of my legs, acting as a support. He would lick my hand in response, and then I'd bury myself further under my comforter.

It was still better sleep than I'd gotten in days.