The tide shifted as she clawed her way to consciousness, her lungs burning as she surfaced from the darkness. Sand moved silently beneath her while she gained composure, the tide’s cold kisses stinging her skin. The moon looked lovely that night. Bright and full, a promise of futures untold, the ethereal glow making her feel safe.

  Where am I?

  She pressed an unsteady hand into the sand, watching the imprint fill with water, and then vanish, like she was never there at all. Goosebumps peppered her skin, the uncaring wind whipping across her tattered gown.

  The fabric clung to her ankles, too heavy for the breeze, strangely out of place. Serge and lace, stitched by hand in places, the durable wool thread holding true. A shadow moved, the glow of a flashlight cut through the night, bouncing off the water’s edge.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  She flinched at the sudden presence, squinting against the glare. As she struggled to get up, a gentle hand grasped her elbow, guiding her upwards. She winced, feeling stiff and leaden. The man's face came into focus, he features soft with concern for her.

  “I’ve got you,” the man said gently. “Take it slow.”

  His features swam into focus - broad shoulders, wavy blonde hair, a face etched with concern.

  “I’m Officer Kyleson1. What’s your name?”

  Her name. For a moment, panic bubbled up in her throat. The answer hovered just out of reach, hidden behind the same thick fog that clouded her mind, then —

  “Bella,” she croaked, voice hoarse. It hurt to speak.

  “Easy, it’s okay, Bella. You’re safe. Let’s get you checked out,” he softened his voice,.

  Safe, the word rang hollow. A blanket wrapped around her shoulders, coarse but warm. The world spun. She couldn’t remember anything about herself other than her name. She lost her balance, finding herself back in the sand. Officer Kyleson helped her back to her feet, supporting her as he lead her to an ambulance. Bella kept losing her balance as they walked further from the shore. The waters beckoned her, but she was too fragile to turn back.

  Strangers in brightly colored attire surrounded her, their faces grave with concern. One of them gently grabbed her wrist. Bella pulled back, clenching her hand against her chest, rubbing her wrists tenderly. Bruises marred her delicate skin, a testament to struggles unknown.

  “Just checking your vitals,” an EMT explained with a smile.

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  She smiled so freely. They all did. There was something strange about the way people looked at her directly, like they didn’t know it was impolite to stare. Bella watched, perplexed, as she pressed tiny squares onto her skin.

  “Electrodes,” she said. “To check your heart.”

  The explanation felt unnecessary, like she was supposed to know what an “electrode” was. She nodded anyway. They continued to poke and prod Bella, shining lights all over. No concussion, they decided. Officer Kyleson remained with her the whole time. The ambulance's sudden movement startled Bella. She didn’t want to be there anymore, she wanted to get out.

  “You’re safe now, Bella,” they reassured her.

  But was she? Panic set in as the ambulance sped away from the only place she knew. She’d been on the shore so briefly, but somehow felt a connection to it. She thrashed against the restraints they put on, desperate to escape. A sudden sharpness ached in her arm. Her face prickled with heat, she could hear her speech change as the sedative kicked in.

  She barely had control over herself, but she fought the darkness, hard. Darkness has been all she had known for a long time. It’s comforting, in a way. The familiarity of nothing. I guess it’s not so bad. She gave in.

  She slowly opened her eyes, the grogginess weighing her down. A sterile ceiling stared back. She found herself in what appeared to be a ward. The air was drier than she wanted, it hurt to breathe at first.

  Days blurred in the hospital. Tests, questions, concerned faces, but no one knew who she was, no records, no matches in missing persons reports. To the world, Bella didn’t exist. The blood work was inconclusive, showing weird proteins or… something. What they told her didn’t make any sense. Bella stopped listening. It wasn’t long before she was deemed “well enough.” Well enough for what, she wasn’t sure.

  A caseworker came, a woman with kind eyes and a practiced smile.

  “Have you graduated high school?” the case worker asked her.

  The question felt strange. She understood the words, but something about her tone struck Bella as brazen.

  “Yes,” she lied. She had no clue if she'd ever even been to a high school before, but something told her this was important.

  The woman nodded, scribbling notes. “Good good. I’ve arranged for you to participate in Britechester’s New Start program.”

  She passed over a couple pamphlets. Scholarship, housing, and mentorship, all provided for Bella as “a young adult in a unique set of circumstances.” It sounded too good to be true, but what other options did she really have?

  “You’ll thrive, Bella,” she smiled. “You show remarkable resilience.”

  Resilience. How would she know? She didn’t know Bella, only that she’d survived something. No one is sure of exactly what it was she survived. Bella washed up on the beach one evening. No one knows how long she was laying there until some college kids found her. Thought she was a pile of debris, or an animal, the way the mess of her own hair obscured her features, the torn dress sprawled out in an ungracious lump around her. Does simply going through something actually make anyone stronger? Bella was still in the beginning of it, not even at the pick yourself up and dust yourself off stage.

  Her heart yearned for someone to talk to. A missing piece, out there in the world without her. She didn't understand how, but she could feel it. Him.