Walking in the Wind [ON HOLD]

Three.

September 13th, 2012

Someone should sue Hollywood for giving unrealistic expectations regarding the recovery of a coma.

It took me about three weeks to remain awake for more than 8 hours, almost two months to finally talk properly and I can't remember how much it took me to finally be able to do things on me own. And let's not talk about the blisters that appear because of being immobilized. A huge pain in the ass. Literally.

Doctors said I was extremely lucky because the coma didn't leave any neurological consequences, which I guess was good. Everytime they ran some tests on me, they said at least fifty medical terms that I didn't understand. All I understood was that I was recovering surprisingly well and that was all I cared about.

They were strange months and it definitely wasn't pleasant for me or my family.

Long things short, waking up from a coma that lasted a year and a half is complete shite and the recovery is definitely not as fast as it is in Hollywood movies.

I was finally dismissed on July 23rd, giving that date a better memory that the one my family had of it at the time.

It's been almost three months of that and my mum still struggles to leave me on me own. Which usually ends up in Greg taking me everywhere.

"Can you tell me again what happened in 2010, please" I beg Greg when he starts the car after spending the morning in London.

He rolls his eyes.

"We've gone through it many times, Niall..."

"I need reassurance" I cut him.

"Ask mom when we get home, yeah?" he answers.

I sigh and look out the car window.

Someday I will be able to write about what happened on July 23rd, 2010.

To be honest, I can't write much because I don't remember much of it. Well, actually, I don't remember any of it.

And there's no way I can remember now. The only reminder I have that something happened that day is a huge scar on my right leg.

"You're not supposed to be there" I mumble fidgeting with the end of my short jeans, staring at the hideous scar.

"Who else is going to take you home, dickhead?" Greg laughs beside me.

He thinks I'm talking to him.

No, I'm talking to the scar.

It's silly that I'm upset over something as stupid as the fact that I believed I had a scar already but it was on the other knee?

It kinda feels as if things were not supposed to be the way they are right now.

I know the doctors have told me to let it go. I know I'm not supposed to think about it. But I can't help it.

When we finish having my birthday dinner, I excuse myself and go to my room. I sit on the bed and open my laptop.

Mom has bought me a new laptop as well as a new phone. I guess she's trying to make me feel the most normal I can be given the circumstances.

If you ask me, the most difficult part of all the recovery was letting the memories of the "dream" I had go. It is the only part of the recovery I've cheated in. I ended up telling the doctors I was fully aware that we were in 2012, that I didn't make it through bootcamp on the X Factor and that there was no such thing as an iPhone X because iPhone 5 wasn't even announced yet... until yesterday.

But something in me believes that what I had wasn't a dream.

It was kind of a vision of a parallel universe. Like "That's So Raven", sort of. With the small difference that my vision showed me nine years and it lasted for the year and a half that I was in the coma.

I type my password and open the Safari.

Mom has told me I can have this school year to do anything I want: Traveling, going to Mullingar with Dad, staying in London... Anything.
But there's only one thing I want to do. And I want to do it alone.

The browser finally loads.

I want to know why my brain decided to pick that scenario for a year and a half. Why I chose who I chose.

I click on the search bar and type two words:

Harry Styles.

Search.