I blink, and slowly open my eyes. The bed is comfortable, but different from mine. I am securely tucked in, but the blanket is not mine either. And there is a smell I am used to but which is not mine, and which I don't particularly like either.
Some clarity comes back to me, and I notice something else. The ceiling. It is… not the ceiling of my room, nor Liz's room, where I have been sleeping for the most part since… almost half a year?
Unconsciously, it has been that long since the accident. And speaking of the latter, my mind comes back online as I remember. I am at the hospital, after another 'accident'. And like the last time, not the time I came for Emmie who has been knocked out with chemical fumes, but that time around half a year ago, I have lost consciousness.
Fortunately, it is not a coma this time. I have been tired, not only physically, but also emotionally. I was drained, but I held on, ignoring everything to wait for news about Liz. And when I got it, the string relaxed, and my body gave out, letting the self-protecting mechanism take over.
And it was not just the stress from the situation. I have been wounded, and I lost some blood before help arrived. And there is that cry that I have let out that has drained me. That cry has come from my whole being, and has left me shaken and dizzy. I can't explain it, I don't understand it at all, but I'm grateful for having that in me. It saved Liz.
Contrary to what anyone might have expected, upon waking up, I am calm. I don't feel anxious, nor do I feel nervous. I look at the ceiling, then to the side, at the window. The curtains are as calm as me, if not more, moving with a hypnotic rhythm to the whims of the winds coming in through the opening left in the window.
I take a moment to breathe, and I feel myself settle down, even if only a little, after what happened. That helps me center my mind around myself. That makes me feel the haze around me become thinner, with reality on the other side calmly waiting, as always.
I breathe in and out, deeply and calmly. This time, I didn't wake up with new things in my head. Of course, the echoes that have come to haunt me are still there. And they may always be there. So I move my focus along, like a store owner checking the stock.
I am dressed differently. While previously only a tear had been made along the line torn by the bullet at my thigh, now I only have a patient's gown on. Though comfortable, just like anything loose enough, the lack of anything underneath is a source of mild discomfort.
I move slightly, and feel only a little bit of a stinging pain at my bandaged thigh. I move out of the blanket, and walk to the window of the single person room. I slept for quite a while. It is the next morning already. The morning after that long hellish morning of yesterday.
I take another breath, and exhale. I look down at the trace of an IV on the back of my hand. That explains why so much time has passed before I woke up, because sleeping is not easy after going hungry for a whole day.
The sense of unreality returns strong, then fades away like snow under the sun, and I push the curtains apart. It is like clouds parting and sky clearing after the rain. It is like brightness and hope coming back after grey hopelessness. I take another breath again and exhale, before I turn away.
I calmly look around, then down at my exposed thighs, then limp to the door. Opening it, the outside is colder than the brightness beyond the window. The people coming and going are also a little gloomier, a little more hurried, a little more depressed.
I look around, and a nurse notices me. She smiles at me:
"You are awake. Do you want to see Dr Lockdream?"
I look at her, then nod before she can start wondering if I'm having some sequelae.
"Then let's go."
'She seems shaken, maybe still suffering from aftereffects of the shutdown.'
The nurse glances to the side at me as we walk, and we don't go far before she looks through the window of a door, and carefully pushes it open. I don't have time to even feel thankful for the lack of conversation. All my focus moves with the movement of the door, and my eyes fall onto the form on the white bed, covered to the chest with a white blanket, and sleeping with an oxygen mask on the face.
A lump climbs up to my throat, and a slight sting prick at my eyes. I blink to chase those away, and I don't care about the nurse, nor her thoughts. I move with a tunnel vision to the side of the bed inside the room, and look at Liz's closed eyes and calm face.
The lump in my throat grows, and the pricking sensation feels more uncomfortable. I don't want to cry, but I really may let it out. I raise my hand and push strands of Liz's hair away from her forehead.
I have waited for her news, and I have collapsed after getting the slightest inkling that she will be alright. And now that I'm seeing her safe and sound, what happened comes crashing down on me, bringing along the fear the situation has kept at bay, the despair that has been pushed down, the helplessness that has almost crushed me. And I recall Liz's eyes when she was begging me to save myself without caring about her, the blood on her lips when she opened her mouth, but only managed to move her lips without managing to make a sound, telling me to run
Each frame of the memory of yesterday is like a knife going into my heart, twisting inside and stirring the pieces of my entrails. And the pain remains there, unwilling to go away.
The tears I am keeping at bay slide down in silence. I adjust the blanket on Liz, and lie beside her to wait, again, but this time for her to wake up. And hopefully, my tears will have dried down by then. Hopefully.