The Difference

Chapter 25

If the fog would only go away for longer than a moment she might actually be able to capture her thoughts before they darted from her grasp like slippery, shimmering fish. Not that she had ever tried to hold on to fish by hand except on the random deep sea fishing excursions. Of course, then she and worn gloves. That's what she needed now: slip-proof dream gloves.

It was truly annoying how she could not escape the sleep-like state long enough to figure out what the heck got her so drowsy. What had she ingested the night before to get her this knocked out? All Lisa knew was that she had to get it together or she'd miss her flight to be with Michael. Not that she had any idea what day it was. Still, she was driven by an urgency which could only mean it was time to see him.  Everything inside screamed that something was very wrong.  Either she was overly sensitized to shit hitting the fan or... Or she should listen to that voice as ignoring it in the past, had never  panned out.

"Lisa-Marie,baby, are you awake? Come on, look at me. Look, Michael is here with me."

Voices slithering through the haze. Her mother's voice. And obviously hell had frozen over while she slept, if she interpreted here mother's tone correctly and it was delight coloring her words. Delight and Michael's name were mutually exclusive in her mother's case.

This surely was part of the dream, right? Why would Priscilla be here in her bedroom? Talk about nightmares!

Lisa strained to open her eyes. Must have been some powerful stuff last night. Wait- she didn't do that anymore.  Confusion...

And why was mother in her bedroom? Had she gone overboard?  Nope...not likely. The days of waking up hung over from a variety of substances and finding Priscilla plus a team of people to "get her straight" next to her had finally gone. Come to think of it, what had happened to her bed? It was uncomfortable as all get-out. The next attempt to move send a sharp pain through her. 

A memory slashed like a knife through the canvas of her mind. Pain. There had been so much pain. The recollection mingled with present agony like two dark colors circling a drain, becoming indistinguishable. Suddenly, the comfortable nothing she had been surrounded by seemed preferable.  Too bad the door had retreated as the fog lifted.

Wet.

There had been wetness, too. Did she fall into the pool? Yeah, that was it. She recalled the taste of chlorinated water and automatically was shaken by a coughing fit.

"What's happening, doctor? Why is she coughing like that? You said her lungs were ok."

God, did her mother have to be such a bitch to the doctor? Why was Michael not reigning her in? If, indeed, he was present.

Come on, Lise, open your damn eyes! How hard can it be?

Well, it was hard as hell!

Doctor?

Shit, she must be in a hospital. That's what that odd, sterile smell was.

"She is coming out of sedation, obviously. Anastasia can induce some suppression of pulmonary function."

"Why won't she open her eyes?"

"Gosh, Mom! Do you have to use that tone? My head..."

Lisa's own voice sounded like she just gave three shows in a row.  In Moscow. Open air. Followed by yelling at Michael all night. Or by him making her lose her voice in one of their other marathons that followed the fighting.

"Thank God, she knows it's me...Baby, open your eyes."

How could she ever mistake her mother’s voice?