Sidenote: This doesn't mean I'm abandoning New Life. But this is pretty much a semi-remake because I didn't like some aspects in the old one- though I will be keeping some of them. For my regular readers, I hope y'all aren't too mad at me. As for new readers- hi! I hope you enjoy this story! XD *much love*

What did it mean to be insane?

The very definition was loose, someone who didn't understand morality. Was it when someone who couldn't tell the difference from right and wrong? Someone who couldn't tell what was real or part of their imagination? Was it to do the same thing, over and over and over again, expecting another result from a repetitive pattern? To be have all sense of rationality evaporated from your brain?

To entirely become another person overnight with no logical explanation?

Rephrased; have could you tell the difference between a dream and reality? If you weren't a lucid dreamer. How would you tell? How can you tell if it was fantasy, or in your head?

The tricky conclusion; you can't.

Air slammed into my chest with the brute force of a freight train, jolting my entire body. I hastily snapped up. My lungs contracted, mouth dropping open to sharply inhale a gasp of air. A light overwhelmed my eyes, sending a wave of pain through my corneas. I couldn't make sense. Everything was blurring too fast. The world suddenly closed the curtains, engulfing me in darkness, shutting my mind off.

It wasn't long until the feeling rushed back. Nausea crawled over my head, writhing in my gut. I expressed a deep groan. A beam glaring in my vision was red behind my lids, almost blinding me when I tried to see. Lightly, I groaned in disgust at the morning-after taste lingering on the roof of my mouth. I rolled my tongue, feeling the tip of my nose crinkle at the dryness of my parched throat. Why am I so thirsty?

I forcefully peeled open my eyes.

There was a haze clutching my head, which took a while to pass. I squinted through it, blinking away the sleep caging me. After it cleared, I found myself staring vacantly at a cheaply made looking wicker chandelier. Switched off with dust bunnies and thin lines of web stringing across it.

I don't own a chandelier….?

The first thought of my conscious mind cooled my blood, and my initial reaction was to crane my head to the side, eyes slowly scanning the area with trepidation clenching in my stomach, allowing my inquisitive gaze to drink in the unfamiliar sights.

The 'L' shaped room was framed with white walls that were drastically losing colour, fading into a very light toned yellow, it's wallpaper curling at the bottom with age. My nose crinkled at the sight of patches of mold growing. On my right there was a crooked coffee table that looked like it was on it's last legs, ever so slightly tilted, with a book underneath one of its support pillars to- I assumed - keep it even.

Ahead of me at a diagonal angle was a large glass pane over showing a couple buildings and cerulean sky. Cornflower blue curtains were suspended either side, allowing the warm sun rays to pour through the window. It shined down onto the ashen floorboards underneath me, skimming over the glinting dust floating in the air.

I saw a kitchen tucked away in a corner, next to the short corridor that lead to an old red door. A grey fridge, rusted looking oven and a few black countertops. An opened box of cereal next to an idle bowl. Piled dirty plates in the sink, flies circling above them. My eyebrows furrowed, mouth dipping into a disgusted frown at the stale smell.

Another quick, startled glance around let me realise that it wasn't a room but rather a small apartment. I was in the middle of it all, propped up with my bare legs flat on the cold, wooden floorboards, half asleep.

"...The fuck…?" The sluggish profanity slipped out, murmured in my tired state.

I was alone, by the looks of things.

I pressed my palms either side of me onto the solid wood and fumbled to my feet. Blood rushed to my head when I pushed myself up too fast and my hand darted out to grab the wall so I didn't topple over. I took a deep breath, blinking away the fizzing spots in my vision.

Would kill for a drink…

I licked my chapped lips with a grimace and my gaze lifted toward the mini kitchen. Ready to remove myself from the wall, I moved away, taking a step forward. Gravity felt heavier than usual but when it was evident I wasn't going to introduce my face to the ground, I kept foundering further.

When I grew closer, the flies whizzed near my face, so I picked up the faded tea towel hanging from the stove handle. I whipped it around, leading them to the opened window. After five minutes of this tedious process, most of them were gone. Mildly satisfied, I opened the cabinets which were mounted on the wall above the counters.

"Bingo," I grunted, sounding slightly hoarse. I set my sights on the only clean glass, picking it up and filling it with water before eagerly gulping it down. Sighing with relief, I placed it on the counter and turned to face the foreign apartment, gaze narrowing. Incertitude stabbed my gut, and I wrapped my arms over each other.

Now, where the hell am I? Who does this apartment belong to? Why am I here? How did I get here? Who was I with last night-?

There was a flash in my head, along with an aching throb. Long and thin dark eyes, a head full of jet black hair, lanky figure. A boy. There was that familiar, nostalgic sensation in the back of my head. So I knew him, but what was his name? Who was he to me? Was he with me last night? Speaking of- what was I doing last night?

Phone, I reminded myself, mentally flicking my skull. Idiot.

Maybe my texts and calls would give me clues.

I patted myself down, feeling around in denim jean pockets, both front and back. I squashed down the worry, which was slithering below the surface when I couldn't feel the solid shape of my old crappy phone.

In the ocean of questions, another one popped up and took priority. Jacket. Where's my jacket?

It wasn't as though I were materialistic and more concerned with my vanity items- though it was my favorite jacket- but my means of communicating with family was somewhat vital. Especially with my condition.

My gaze darted around, from the coca coloured corner sofa with marled knitted cushions, to the messy desk pushed up along the wall next to the large window, I spotted my beloved sprawled on the floor by the door, next to a pair of cruddy trainers. My jacket was a dark muddy colour, which extended just below the hips with a hood and had deep pockets, unlike most feminine clothing.

In the midst of picking up my jacket, I eyed the grubby shoes somewhat warily, wondering where the owner of them were.

"There you are you little shit," I mumbled to myself and my shoulders released tension in relief-

Only to realise my phone was dead.

"Bollocks," I hissed lowly. I clenched my jaw, shoving my arm through the sleeve before doing the same with the other one, shoving my phone back in its place.

Communication is out, maybe there's a landline here.

But after searching, I nearly threw the opened box of cereal in frustration when- surprise, surprise, there was no landline.

Okay. Think, I rubbed my face, leading my hands up to comb back my hair. No landline. Phone is dead. This guy- or girl, whoever lives here, doesn't have a charger for some reason. You woke up in a stranger's house and you don't know where you are.

Right. I bit down on my lip. Location. Focus on location.

I walked to the door, opening and closing it behind me to be graced with the image of stairs. Mentally kicking myself for not taking my pills, I grabbed the metallic railing and started my descent. My thoughts blanked out the sound of my feet clanging against the steps, plagued by a burning determination for answers.

Reaching the ground floor, I casually sauntered outside, hands in my two front jean pockets.

Only to freeze in position, and to be harshly slapped with a strong haze of confusion. I felt my nose twitch as I sniffled and adjusted the position of my glasses. I rose my eyes from the pavement, searching far and wide to gather my bearings.

"The fuck." I spit under my breath once again that morning, reeling back a startled step.

The town wasn't any I recalled. Buildings didn't click. Signs didn't look familiar. Names of streets were as foreign to me as a blind man trying to name colours.

An old man with a brown flat top and black cane ambled across, sparing me a skeptical glance when I didn't move from the spot I picked for staring at everything.

I also noticed the cars.

Not necessarily the cars, but the side of the road.

They were driving on the wrong side.

In the middle of my dazed walk, I twirled, but still continued strolling backwards. I stared at the car driving by, the person inside oblivious to my baffled ogling.

I quietly repeated my earlier statement, "the fuck?"

After wandering around this new, unexplored area the lack of old, grimy payphones threw me off. Even in the suburban areas they were around, granted some rare ones didn't even have the phone attached anymore from abuse but the booths existed. Here it was like it wasn't even a concept. It was weird. It was annoying.

Was I scared? Perhaps a tiny bit. That feeling never truly left me even as I got used to it by the twentieth time, but it was always there like an insistent picidae. That survival instinct telling me something was off. This was rubbing me the wrong way. Nothing was right about this.

Everything was bad. The air brushed my skin, heated more than the mundane English weather. A strong smell of cut grass forced into my nostrils, causing me to glance over at a middle aged man with a receding hairline, who was bent over his fence swiping at his shiny, damp head. Right next to the lawn mower.

I was getting so frustrated that I wanted to scream at the nearest person that waddled by, who happened to be a pregnant woman looking ready to pop, her hand bracing her lower back, the other on the top of her big belly. She noticed me twitching and anxiously hurried her step.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

I held my breath, then released a long drag of air.

My stomach growled.

Okay. Can't think on an empty stomach. Do I have money-

I unzipped the inside pocket of my jacket, faltering when I pulled out a singular note. What-? The absence of the Queen's face made me do a double take. I stalled and then held it up, gawking at Abraham Lincoln's features. His gaze staring intently back at me. American- dollars? What in the world?

I questioned my activities last night, trying once again to file through my memories only to come up blank. I swallowed the hard lump forming in my throat, a snake of worry wriggling back up. I swatted the increasing feeling, shoving the money back into my pocket.

Alright. Fine. American money. Where the hell did I get it? What the fuck happened last night? Did I get drunk? Drugged? Kidnapped?

I recalled tiredly skimming over stories on social media websites when procrastinating from essays. Pointedly a French gang trafficking people as their living-drug-holders, placing small bags into their organs and moving them across different countries to smuggle them in for profit. Talk about a horror story.

Shuddering at the thought, I decided to find a bathroom, to check for any unsettling scars being in places they shouldn't be.

It lead me to the corner of a road, with a building. Through the windows I could see it bustling with people. Mildly interested, I rose my head up to the restaurant name.

Mystic Grill.

Hm.

Vaguely, it sounded familiar, but I didn't take the time to dwindle on it.

I entered, letting the door slowly swing close behind me.

Warmth brushed against my revealed skin, ears instantly greeted by faintly indistinct music, the lively chatter of patrons and the metallic scraping of knives and forks against plates. It all melded together into one inconceivable blur as I made my way toward the toilets.

What unsettled me even more were the snippets of conversations that reached my ears.

It wasn't what they were talking about that made me uneasy.

It was that they were all mainly American.

There was not one British person. Irish. English. Scottish. Welsh. No one from Liverpool, Manchester, absolutely no east Londoners, it didn't make sense unless I was in a strictly tourist area where mainly Americans roamed. A few Americans, fair enough. Made sense. But when they were all strictly American-

It was off putting and strange, considering I lived in London. I felt isolated and beginning to feel the icy creep of dread over what I got myself into this time. My breath shuddered, fingers gripping the sides of the metallic square sink until my knuckles paled of all colour, which was impressive considering I was pretty pale.

Am I losing it? Blue eyes levelled in the mirror, peering over an upturned nose. No, I'm not okay. I feel like crap. "I'm okay…"

You're talking to yourself, isn't that the first sign?

"Stop it," I muttered aloud, lifting a hand to wipe my face once more. Is this a dream?

Almost as if to test this, I brought my hand up and pinched my cheek, pulling and stretching the skin. My palm pressed along the cooling glass, pulling away and leaving a smudge, the friction squeaking. I could feel it all. Taste the stale air in the restroom, the hot water rushing down on my fingers when I ran them underneath the tap.

I pushed the door open, eyes flickering to find someone that could help me.

There.

A woman with long, corn silk blonde hair and emerald eye shadow was walking around a table, platter tucked underneath her arm. I moved toward her and moved in her path. The older woman glanced down with a friendly customer-serving smile, the tense corners of her eyes revealed her annoyance. I ignored it.

"Hi," I greeted curtly, feeling a little impatient for social obligations, but I kept a polite enough tone whilst speaking. "Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering…" there was no other way to say it, so I continued bluntly, "Could you help me out? I'm lost."

The edge to her features softened to something akin to concern, mixing with mild confusion. "Lost?"

Her twang didn't help settle the unease bubbling in my chest.

"I just want to know where I am, if I'm honest." I forced a short chuckle, feeling a tad awkward I had to rely on a stranger for something embarrassing such as this. "I have a condition. Pill-prescribed and everything. Forgot to take them. Ended up waking up in a place I don't know."

At my explanation, her eyes seemed to grow pitiful. I squirmed uncomfortably under her sympathetic gaze, averting my eyes to my chipped purple nail varnish. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry, that must be horrible to live with!"

"I'm used to it," I stiffly leaned back, wishing she would stop staring. "Anyway, can you tell me-"

"Let me get you some water!" The blonde woman cut me off and bounced her way toward the bar, I watched her leave my table with disbelieving and slightly narrowed eyes as she called over her shoulder, "on the house!"

"For fuck sake," I held my head in my hands. I just wanted to know where I was! Before I knew it, she was back, putting the glass of clear liquid in front of me. I cupped it, begrudgingly lifting it to my lips to have a sip.

"Oh, my bad!" She chirped happily. "Welcome to Mystic Falls, the best town in Virginia!"

I choked on my water and nearly dropped the glass, sputtering unattractively. I broke into a coughing fit, and the blonde waitress hastily passed me a napkin. I wiped the drool from my mouth and shrewdly stared.

Slowly, I asked, "Beg your pardon?"

"I know, it's a bit of a silly name but it grows on you!" The peppy woman giggled, a tint of pink in her cheeks. She didn't quite seem to understand why I had my reaction. "The waterfalls are pretty too, it's the main tourist attraction and I can definitely see why it's on the-"

"Betty," I read out loud the name tag clipped onto her perfectly ironed shirt, interrupting the enthusiastic rambling.

"I must say, you have the most adorable accent, what part of the UK are you-"

"Did you say Virginia?" Mystic Falls, my brain taunted, but I dismissed it. I was more interested in the state.

"Yup!" There was a wide grin on her too-happy face. The whiteness of her pearly teeth gave me a migraine. "I was born and raised here! I recommend the steak house on Eric Aven-"

I zoned her out.

I had a habit of sleepwalking- more than a simple habit really.

It was harmless early in life.

At first, the furthest I got was my parents room. Then the bathroom, and even in the garden. I had woken up with dirt on my face, crisping leaves stuck to my wild hair. One time I ate the play dough preserved in the fridge and another I drank the entirety of a concentrated blackcurrant bottle, which gave me quite the stomach ache in the morning.

The most danger at the time was the cutlery draw, which my father soon locked up at night.

It was only when I stood on the edge of my window, my mother called the therapist.

It was when I recently woke up in the middle of a freezing lake, almost drowning, my father demanded that I have medication.

Suffice to say, I was unfazed to waking up in unfamiliar places. You could even say I grew to be in tune with it, especially since one time I ended up in the middle of a park that was an hour's bus trip over. Other people may have freaked out, be scared, disorientated. Maybe it was like that to start with but now it was normal to me. I just got annoyed.

But this was ...different. So much more different.

This time, I was in another country.