FOURTEEN.

My eyes snap open.

Dread seeps from my pores.

Clawing at my neck, I struggle to fill my lungs with air. I sit up and ultimately realise that I'm no longer in the same room.

I'm in another room that's been dimmed of its natural light as the large maroon curtains have been pulled shut.

I concentrate on trying to elevate my breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

What kind of screwed-up dream was that? I think to myself, feeling like I’m going to be sick.

I brush my hand over my sweat-coated face and groan. My body aches. My muscles are screaming in agony as if I've just completed a marathon.

Which, is ironic. Because I've never run a day in my life.

Well, not by choice anyway.

I persist in the act of blinking. I flutter my lashes in a butterfly effect, basking in the first rays of daylight. Through the slender opening of the lavish drapes, a beam of radiant light filters in, casting a luminous white glow upon the foot of the expansive bed where I presently occupy.