A beautiful mess

99 4 4
                                    

A/C I know, I'm late and this is short, I'm sorry but I have writers block... Hope you enjoy non-the-less<3

-----

I had decided in twenty-four hours that I hate hospitals, I hate the smell, I hate the sounds, I even hate the people.

I needed privacy but instead I was constantly surrounded by doctors, at least I had a private room and was now detached from most of the machinery. I only had the drip attached to me now, I had no idea what it was for but I couldn't care enough to ask.

Finally I was allowed out of the room, I just wasn't allowed to walk for due to the fact that my legs were still weak and I was yet to start physio therapy.

“Can I help you with anything?” The nurse asked me.

“May I go to the café?”

“Yeah, I'll be right back, stay here.” she instructed before returning with a wheelchair and one crutch. I grabbed the pole that the drip led to and carefully climbed into the chair.

The nurse had left me by the entrance to the café and announced that she would be back in an hour.

I hesitantly opened the large door and made my way to the counter. What did I want to drink? All these things were new to me and I had no idea what to go for. After taking a while to decided I picked a bottle filled with orange liquid, labelled “Orange Juice.” and made my way to the counter and handed the change that the nurse had given me just moments before.

I made my way to the corner labelled “Patients” and sat down at an empty table for two.

After messing with the lid of the bottle for far too long, I gave up and pushed it away from me, just staring it down until a figure reached my table, I looked up to find a boy with short black hair and piercing green eyes. “May I sit with you?” he asked shyly, I just simply nodded at him but he took the hint and sat across from me, giving the orange juice a questioning look.

“Can't seem to open it.” I said, making the boy chuckle slightly and take a hold of it before taking the lid off and passing it back to me. I lifted it to my lips, ignoring my slight shaking and took a gulp of it, screwing my face up. It was sour, like really sour. The boys face lit up at my reaction and his eyes showed amusement.

“What are you in here for?” he asked, curiosity got the best of him.

“If only I knew.” I mumbled, making him confused. “Loss of memory. What about you?”

“Wrap this up with a knife that loves to feel. How do you know how deep to go before it's real?"

“What?”

“Lyrics, I use them to explain awkward situations.” he explained while lifting his wrists up to reveal bandages. I was taken back, someone would do that to themselves? Why? What would drive anyone that far?

“Ah..” was the only thing I could think of to say, what does anyone say in these situations? I'm sorry you cut? That doesn't seem like something you should say to someone.

“Nixon.” he held out a hand, I placed the bottle down and took it.

“Deza, apparently.” I replied.

“Apparently?”

“No one knows, not even myself.” he smiled slightly and nodded. I hadn't known him long but I was already starting to like him, everything about being around him felt natural plus his green eyes welcomed me in a way that made me feel special and his smile told me that he felt the same.

“You're beautiful.” he said in a low tone then bit his lip, surprised at the words that had just escaped his lips.

“I'd thank you but I have no idea what I look like.” I said quietly, slightly embarrassed. He took something off the table, pulled it up clicked something then handed it to me. I took it carefully in my hand and stared confused at the picture of a girl with over-grown red hair and blue eyes.

“It's you.” he said simply, my breath caught, I looked a mess but still I seemed to find myself some-what pretty. My hair was over-due a haircut but that would be expected for six months of being unconscious, how I still had bags under my eyes was beyond me. “See, you are beautiful.”

“A beautiful mess.” I stated, Nixon's eyes gleamed, but he nodded slightly and grabbed my hand stroking it with his thumb.

“Hmm, you're like an angel.” he whispered and brushed his lips against my hand. 

Starting A Life From Amnesia.Where stories live. Discover now