Dull beeping and bright, flourescent lights push sleep away, waking me with a punch, almost. It takes a few seconds for me to open my eyes, but when I do, the room I'm in looks plain. Pastel blue walls, white tile...not very attractive to an artist. I would deal with the room, but no one's here and I don't quite remember what happened to me.
I'm in a hospital; I know that for sure, judging by the monitors at my side and the IV hooked to my wrist. But I'm not in much pain other than a dull throbbing in the back of my head. Am I crazy? Or sick? My mind is hazy on everything that has happened for the past week, so it's possible. I think.
Just as if they had read my mind from wherever they were, a doctor and my family come in, all wearing strained smiles. Caleb and Casey watch me with their huge eyes as if I've morphed into something unspeakable and I furrow my eyebrows, touching my face to feel for new cuts or burns, but nothing's there. "What's...?" I start, but stop when I try to move my legs. I try again, but I can't even feel them.
Mom reaches out for me. "Baby..." she says quietly, but I shrink back.
"What's wrong with me?" I scream, still trying to move my legs. They're just asleep; there's nothing wrong with them. There can't be.
The doctor looks to my parents as if to ask them for permission while I start to hyperventilate from my incessant struggling with my legs. No matter how hard I try, the only muscles moving are my abs. "Capri," the doctor says, coming to my bedside with a clipboard in his hands. "We're sending you to a hospital specifically for people like you."
"Like me?" I repeat, raising my eyebrows.
"You shattered both of your legs and got a concussion," he replies vaguely, gesturing to my legs and head. Not believing him, I tear the covers away to see two white casts on each leg that go all the way up to my thighs, widening my eyes when I feel around my head and the rough texture of gauze meets my fingertips. "Do your legs hurt?"
"No..." I reply, still staring at the ugly, bulky casts. As soon as I say that, Mom bursts into tears and exits the room quickly with the twins, leaving me bewildered. Looking back to the doctor, I ask, "Why's she crying? My legs will heal..."
The doctor doesn't reply and goes over to my dad, holding the clipboard up to hide what he's saying before going out of the room, probably to find my mother. Dad stands stiffly, chewing on the inside of his cheek and avoiding my gaze as he stares off at a random etch in the wall.
"Daddy," I murmur, using what I called him as a little girl to be more convincing while trying to keep calm as I touch my rock-hard casts with wary hands. "Am I going to be okay?"
He lets out a huff of air and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. After a few seconds, in an uneven voice, he says, "I-I don't know" and comes over to me to hold my hand until the doctor and two male nurses come in to lift me out of my bed and put me on a gurney.
When Dad tries to follow, the doctor stops him, putting a hand up. "We're shipping your daughter off right now, but you need to stay with your family. Capri's in good hands, Mr. Caverly."
With that, the nurses roll me off and my heart races as I watch my dad grow smaller and smaller as we move. What are they going to do to me? "Please tell me what's going on," I beg the doctor as they load me into an ambulance. He has no right to leave me in the dark about whatever this is.
"We're sending you to an rehab center," the doctor replies as they're closing the doors.
Rehab Center? Last time I checked, I've never been under the influence of anything, let alone addicted to whatever it may be. I mean, that's what comes to mind when you hear that word. I continue to ponder as the truck begins to move, bouncing over speed bumps in the exit and then picking up speed. One of the nurses keeps putting his hand on me every time we make a quick stop and I finally start to stare at him as if to ask, "Why are you touching me?"