Theodore

o l i v e

•Theodore•

The first thing I hear is beeping. Not like the hooting of a car, or like an alarm system beeping every time somebody passes a beam. Beeping, as in it's quite loud, has the same pace as the last one. It brings me back. It alerts me that my ears work quite well, enough to wake me up from the annoying beeping.

My fingers are the next thing getting sensation. I feel sheets, and then they curl up to hide in my palm a bit too painfully.

I'm aware of how I'm breathing. Very low, but paced well. I can feel the rise and fall of my chest. If I pay close attention, under the obnoxious beeping, I can faintly hear the inhale and exhale through my nose. And then I can feel my heart pounding very lightly, faintly, but that's the last indication that I'm alive and well.

But why is there beeping?

My eyes peel apart, and the first thing that sizzles the back of my pupils are the house lights. A small groan leaves me when I pinch my eyes closed, and then reopen them to adjust to the light. After blinking away and being able to allow my eyes to adjust to seeing, my eyes wander around as much as I could, until I decide to move my head.

I take note that I'm in a hospital room; if the beeping monitor didn't give it away, the bed and clothing I'm wearing is a dead indication. I blink to focus on her, who is seated not too far from my bed. She has her head back, almost as if her neck broke, and her lips are parted. She's sleeping. She'd be a lot more comfortable on a bed.

"M-m—" I swallow, then try producing saliva before licking my lips. Then, I try again. "M-mom?" She stirs but nothing else indicates her stirring back conscious. "Mom. Mom."

She makes a sound of acknowledgment, and then she stirs again. Her head remains backward for a good few seconds before she lifts it up with a long and uncomfortable groan. Then her eyes peel open before wandering around until they lock with mine.

At first, she's still. Still, as in processing thoughts obviously rounding about in her mind. And then she's at her feet and rushing to me, whining my name and tears instantly welling up and slipping down her rosey cheeks. "Oh my word, Theodore! Baby! You're awake!"

"I am." I groan when she basically throws herself in me, pinching my eyes shut when the top of her head hits my chin and forces my jaw shut. Had my tongue been in the way... "Mom, I'm in pain."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She quickly gets up. "Are you hungry? Gosh, you must be so thirsty, baby. Do you want some water? Here, here." She quickly pours me a full glass of water. Too full, it starts spilling over even before she could pick it up and hand it to me. Nonetheless, I sip on the content with her assistance, rolling my eyes as I feel the hospital gown soak up a bit when the water spills. "Drink, drink. Don't choke now."

Choke. I hate that word. It comes with baggage for memories.

She pulls the empty glass away and discards it on the table with no care before she look at me. She quickly wipes her face and then rushes to the chair she once was sitting on, then dragged it over, again with no care, towards my bed. It confuses me, since she ends up sitting on the bed anyway.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by a train repeatedly." I sigh, clearing my hoarse throat. "My body is sore."

"It will. You just came out of a terrible accident, Theodore." She mutters at me. I glance over at her as she wipes away her tears once again. "I'm just so happy you're alive. I don't even know what I'd do if I'd lost you, you know? Your father is suing that drunk driver. They found that he was drunk driving. He almost cost your life!"

"It's fine, mom. I just don't want drama—"

"Drama? Theodore, you were in a coma for a week. It was so dreadful. I kept coming back, hoping you'd wake up. I couldn't even go to work, I really thought I was going to lose you! It's not dramatic to hold a person responsible for their causes, when it affects another person."