[ WP ] You wake up on exact date of your 5th birth date in your 5 year old body , with your current memory .

I shifted in the scratchy sheets waking up as I heard my mother shouting from outside the bedroom door for me to wake up. I turned over, trying to ignore it and get back to sleep. I had worked a double last night, plus it was my birthday. Why could n't she just give me a break today... 
 
 Suddenly the cloud of sleep flew away as I realized it was my mother outside my bedroom door and my eyes flew open in terror. What the hell was she doing here? I lived 700 miles away from her and liked it that way. I flung the covers off of myself and was about ready to tell her to get the hell out of my house when I stopped cold. This was n't my house. This was hers. My old bedroom. With the horrible pink canopy bed and pink lace curtains. The ones she never let me change out, because it was never my bedroom, she just let me live in it. 
 
 How the everloving fuck did I end up here? It's a twelve hour drive. I swung myself out of bed but instead of my feet touching the floor I tumbled down into a sprawl of limbs and a pink nightgown. 
 
 The fuck? I looked down at my hands saw the tiny bitten-off fingernails. I looked around the room for a mirror, any mirror. I spotted my music box on my dresser and scrambled over and shoved the lid open. There on the inside was the fake plastic mirror I thought I had remembered and I looked at my reflection. Even through the distortion of the plastic I could see myself as I remember at 5 years old. I turn to the door in terror as I hear my mother coming down the hall again. 
 
 `` Morgan, it's time to get up. Your grandmother will be here soon. It's your birthday after all.'' 
 
 I squeaked out in a small terrified voice: `` I'm up Ma. Just... need a bit to get dressed.'' 
 
 No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This ca n't be happening. I pinched myself and nothing happened. I pinched myself harder. Nothing changed. Oh god, I'm not dreaming. Oh no. 
 
 The last twenty years flashed in front of me. The next thirteen ahead of me burned bright in the forefront of my memory. Thirteen years of emotional and physical abuse. It started soon. Kindergarten started the emotional abuse, constantly being told how stupid and worthless I was every time I missed even a single point on an assignment. Being called fat if I gained any weight, even normal growth weight. Fourth grade the beatings started. They never stopped until I moved out when I was legally able. She started drugging me in high school. Two suicide attempts, one at thirteen, one at seventeen. Thirteen years before I could escape again. 
 
 No. No. I would n't let that happen again. I looked out the window, thinking of escaping and running. Fuck, anything would be better than reliving that hell. Even survival as a five year old in the woods. 
 
 Then I remembered who helped me escape thirteen years from this day and I stopped. The love of my life. The man I eventually married. My wonderful Arthur. The man who never stopped defending me, holding me through nights of sobbing from flashbacks. Who encouraged me through school and a pregnancy that almost killed me. Who never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself. The kindest and gentlest soul I had ever met in my entire life. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. 
 
 I froze. Maybe... Maybe this time I could beg him not to go to that party. Scream. Cry. Lie for the first time and claim I needed him home because of flashbacks and the baby. Maybe he would n't go. Maybe... Maybe then Art would n't be there to try to stop his drunk cousin from driving. Then he would n't be there when his drunk cousin mixed up drive and reverse. Then I would n't have had to hold him as the kind nurses shut off the life support. Maybe... Maybe I could save him, the way he saved me. 
 
 I looked back into the distorted mirror in the music box, then shut the lid slowly. I carefully stood and set the box back on the dresser and walked to my closet and pulled out a tiny outfit, much like one I would be helping my daughter get into on her fifth birthday. 
 
 I could do thirteen years of hell. Even for one more minute with him.
