Amy woke up in the dark, her screams making her throat hoarse.  She could still feel the sharp, jagged glass cutting into her, her blood spilling from her body and painting the carpet an unnatural crimson.  It didn't stop hurting even when she knew she was awake, when she threw off the covers and saw that no cuts or wounds assailed her.<br/><br/>Her first thought was selfless, to rush to the door and make a sharp bang upon the frame, wanting to warn someone, help someone, to find out what was going on.  Yet as the sleep forced its way from her adrenaline-charged body and her understanding of where she was returned to her, she couldn't help but feel stupid.  It was all insanity; not just insanity, but dreams.  Her pains faded away as she reminded herself of that, coming to grips with that she was losing it.<br/><br/>Meekly she slipped her way back over to the bed, sitting down once more and fighting the urge to cry.  Losing it right now wasn't going to help her get any better, and yet her eyes clouded over all too easily with her frustration.