I pass out and wake up lying on the cold floor of the locker room. It’s pitch black, and I can’t see anything.  Nothing.  How many hours have passed since I blacked out, that I can no longer see light from outside the windows? Suddenly I hear screeching nearby.  No! I don’t like ghosts!  Please, someone save me!
'Can you hear me?  Listen to me, okay? Tell me where you are. I’m coming for you.' His voice is calm, but I’m panicking and trembling again.  It’s not helping.
“I c-can’t see a-anything. It’s all b-black,” my voice trembling while hugging my knees to my chest.  And why am I talking to someone inside my head?  This is purely absurd.
'I know, darlin’. I’m on my way. Which room are you in right now?'
“L-locker room with the blue door on the second floor on the end of the hallway from the right side,” I say, not realizing that I’ve answered his question.  I shut my eyes tightly, wishing this is all just a dream. That none of this is real. That I’m not talking to someone inside my head at all. That I’m not insane. That I’m not making this up, or hallucinating. Then, I hear a rustling noise in front of me, causing me to open my eyes, followed by the opening of the door. Light floods in, blinding me.
'Missy,' that deep voice from earlier…  Then, whoever I was talking to inside my head enters.  Arms scoop me up gently from the cold floor as I try to catch a glimpse of the person, or whoever he is, holding me right now. I can’t really see his face.  'Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you now. I’m here. It will be okay. I promise you,' The way he’s talking to me is slowly calming me down for some strange reason, even though it sounds cliché and this guy is purely a stranger to me. And I don’t know where I get the courage, but I wrap my arms around his neck and snuggle my face against his chest as tears stream down my face nonstop. I always hate physical touch but why am I letting this stranger touch me? Plus I hate being weak too.  I hate being a damsel in distress who needs a man to save her. But all I’ve ever wanted is someone to lean on. Is that selfish of me to wish, to ask, for once in my life?
'Enough questioning yourself and rest on me. I’ll get you home safe,' I sniffle into this stranger’s shirt, wetting it with my tears.  I let myself drift off to sleep, careless of what might happen to me while I’m unconscious.  Whatever he does to me, I no longer care.  I no longer want to live anyway. Right now, I choose a man over a bear.
I WAKE up with a headache, and I notice that I’m still wearing my uniform and I’m in my room.  Did I dream or am I already dead?  Or was I hallucinating what happened? Nonetheless, I hear noise coming from outside my room, and I notice that it’s morning. The light coming from outside my window is proof that it’s morning, and the sunlight hitting my eyes causes me to get out of bed and go into the bathroom to shower and change into my uniform.
The school uniform that Charlotte’s friends ripped apart in the cafeteria a week ago, and my mother had her friend, a seamstress, fix.  After checking my uniform, I leave my room and head to the kitchen to make breakfast.  I prefer cooking my own food. At the age of nine, I learned how to cook.  I glance at the wall clock. It’s already past 6:25 AM.  I walk through the dining room towards the kitchen, but I stop walking when Bella calls my name.
“Shantal.”
Oh, I hate it when she calls me by my full name however my eyes suddenly fall on the stranger sitting at the table with my family.  He has slightly tousled hair, medium-length.  His hair color is a light blue, with some lighter, almost white, highlights near the top. His eyes are a bright, vivid blue. He has a well-groomed, medium-length beard that is neatly trimmed and styled. He’s wearing a black suit with a suit jacket that’s probably tailored, with a sharp lapel.  The shirt underneath is also black, with a button-down collar. Yep, I can see his tattoo too. He is also wearing a silver watch on his left wrist, which is resting on the table.  Oh, no. My parents hate that. Plus the intricate tattoos around his neck and his small black rose tattoo on the left side under his eye. Somehow he looks oddly familiar.
'You done scanning me now, darlin'?'
I jump in surprise as I hear the familiar voice again inside my head again. Then I realize… he’s… no way.  That means that what happened yesterday wasn’t a dream?  He’s real? Huh?  How is that even possible?  Is this a joke?
“Since when did you have a tattoo on your wrist, Shantal?”  I suddenly focus on my left wrist. A black, bold tattoo. A number. 02120.  I immediately head to the kitchen, go to the sink, and turn on the faucet.  I run the water over my wrist and scrub the number, but no matter how much I scrub, the numbers won’t disappear from my wrist.  I didn’t get a tattoo.  Why do I suddenly have a tattoo now? I’m going insane. There's just so much going on. 
“Aren’t you supposed to be cooking your own breakfast? You’re going to be late,” a voice says behind me.  I turn off the faucet before turning around to face whoever spoke.  He’s way taller than me, making me feel small. He’s so real. I can't believe this.
“H-how? How are you real? Aren’t you supposed to be more like a robot, instead of being human, like, like you’re doing now?” I ask, my voice quiet, making sure no one else is around to hear us. 
“Let’s talk on the way to MIPS. Right now, let me cook your breakfast. You hate being late,”  oh, he is no longer cursing like yesterday. 
“I didn’t say that to you,” I step back away from the sink.
“You did on day six, March 3, 204*, at 7:14 PM, after you finished your project, which was supposed to be a group project, but you finished it yourself because you were the leader. You were also late that morning,” he says, and I’m speechless.  Why did I write such details about my life?
“I… fine. Just cook something,” I sigh.  “Do you even know how to cook? Did my parents give you permission?” He’s a stranger, but why are my parents letting him wander around inside the house? That's suspicious. 
“Yes,” he replies. “Do you want me to cook you an omelette?” I nod.
So many questions are running through my mind. How is he so human?  Shouldn’t he sound and move like a robot?  It doesn’t even make sense how he acts. It doesn’t make sense at all. I need answers, and I’m going to hear them from him, no matter what. Or at least, that’s what I thought.