Hospitalised

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I have been in this room on this bed for the past two days, and it just hit me that I had no idea where my car was, or my camera. I had literally nothing on me, my phone, my camera; my purse…all of it was gone. I slept most of my time away so I never thought about this. I remember dropping everything on the night of the attack, so I was just hoping that Zac had my stuff…or maybe the hospital does, I’ll ask the front desk later.

My days consisted of waking up because a nurse would bring me breakfast, then I would watch a little television before going back to sleep. There really wasn’t anything else to do besides looking out the window, even if the view was lame and just consisted of another brick wall with slight sky at the top. I had no one to talk to and no one knew I was here.

Occasionally I would be given magazines, but after a while those became boring too. Things would get better if I could just walk…but, I can’t do that either.

Every time I tried to stand up pain from my side would send piercing shockwaves throughout my body, causing me to usually crumple back up on my bed either in tears or in a pitiful state of convulsions.

On the rare occasions where I did stand up, however, I would have to take small steps and keep my back hunched over as to not stretch the injury. It was a slow and agonising procedure, so I was confined in the hospital—particularly in this bed, destined to spend a few more days for recovery.

The nurses said that everything would be all right soon; I just had to wait for my gashes to heal up and close with the stitches that they sewed into me while I was drugged and passed out on the operating table. I don’t even remember how many they said I supposedly had.

When I asked them how long it would take for me to be fully healed, they explained that they were not sure because of how deep and severe the wounds were. I still remember how the doctor explained that he never seen anything like it, also claiming that it seemed to take longer to mend than usual and he did not know why.

Well some doctor you are, but could it be because this wound was caused by a werewolf? I still think it’s funny that I was not asked how I got these wounds.

I didn’t like being in this place and I wanted to leave so badly. The one thing that I did get out of being imprisoned here was that by talking to the nurses, I was able to figure out who brought me here.

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“Good morning, darling,” said one of the nurses as she walked in with a tray of the disgusting hospital food that they expected me to eat. It was the same nurse that brought my food in like on all the other days. She had light blond hair and a voluptuous figure, she was always laughing and she had this aura of fake happiness around her; the type that you would come across because it was considered good hospitality and because workers were expected to make patients feel at home.

Well it doesn’t work.

Matter of fact I find it to be a huge turn off and it makes me feel like ignoring the person altogether.

“Good morning,” I muttered in response, looking out the window in the other direction.

She came over and placed the tray on the table next to my bed. If only she knew that when she was supposed to come back and retrieve it a few hours later, the food would still be on there, untouched. Hospital food, as I mentioned before, is disgusting and I honestly do not understand how these people expect me to eat it.

Sometimes the nurses would say something, asking why I don’t eat and wonder if I ever become hungry. I will always answer that I’m not hungry…a lie, of course. I’m starving. I’ve been living off of apples, orange juice, and bananas. The only edible things that are available out of the three trays that I get during the day.

Besides giving me food, the nurse would also give me medicine .A shot of morphine along with some random white pills that I just take without asking what they do. This place just keeps drugging me up. When it came to asking about who my mysterious rescuer was, I wasn’t even going to try.

Many times has a nurse walked in and out of this room doing random duties, where I had the opportunity to just open my mouth and utter the simple question. But my mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate and I would just stare as they left. But I finally decided to actually ask this time, and so I did.

“Um, excuse me,” I said, holding my hand out as she was heading for the door.

She stopped and turned around, giving me the fake smile that was plastered on all the faces of every other person who worked here.

“Do you know who brought me here?” I asked. “The person who, I guess, checked me in?”

“Why, yes, I do!” she exclaimed, like she was happy to be recalling the memory. “He was the sweetest thing, so worried about you that he personally carried you in here himself. Oh, all the blood…you were taken straight to the Emergency Room, dear.”

Was this “he” Zac?

“Who was this person?” I asked.

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She went on to describe the man to me because apparently she didn’t remember his name. But it didn’t take a genius to realise that she was describing Zac, especially when she mentioned the scar on this man’s face. This only confirmed my thoughts that he wasn’t trying to kill me, that the person who attacked me was not him.

After all, why go through all the trouble of hurting me just to bring me to a hospital to get better? Unless there was some hidden motive that was so complex that I couldn’t understand it, the actions did not make sense.

I doubt that Zac drove me here. I would have died from blood loss if he did, so I think he just picked me up and ran here instead…at least, that is what I would like to think.

Zac consumed my thoughts whenever I had nothing else to do, which was practically all the time since American television does actually get boring after you watch ten hours of it. The more I thought about him, the more my heart would ache. It could have been because well, for one, I’m still confused as to what happened that night and I have no idea if he is okay or not…

Nevertheless, I missed him more than I would have liked and I didn’t know why.

Bruises and Bitemarks [Hiatus]Onde as histórias ganham vida. Descobre agora