Recovery

Prologue- Freedome

AN: Hey Guys thanks for checking out my newest Eminem fan fiction, so this prologue  is basically just going to show you a little more about our main character and what she's been living with the past few months, enjoy :) Please comment.

<3 Sorria

The rays of diluted sunlight that trickle through the vertical silts in my room’s vinyl blinds, illuminate the tiny particles of dust that have become momentarily suspended in the soupy air disturbed by yet another fit of coughing. My dry hacking rattles my already tender chest and sends my Aunt into another frenzy. “Alaura! Honey! Alaura? Answer, are you all right? Nurse! Nurse!” she hollers out into the hospital’s quiet corridors.

        The head nurse waddles in, whipping crumbs from her scrubs as she does so. Remotely “What seems to be the problem mam?” My Aunt shifts her weight from her right leg to her left and placing her hands on her hips, begins to tap her penny loafers on the sticky linoleum. “I had been informed that Alaura had suffered no complications in the restoration of her lung.” her hands move in broad sweeping gestures as she talks and her foot continues to tap in annoyance.  The nurse merely grunts as she flips thro the file at the foot of my bed. “Seeing as the girl suffered from three fractured ribs a punctured lung and other broken and mutilated extremities I’d say she’s healing pretty darned well.”

        I just roll my eyes I’ve grown so accustomed to being referred to in third person that I feel barley the slightest twinge of annoyance.

“Well then why dose it sound like she has Croup?” my Aunt questions through gritted teeth. The nurse chuckles and slips on a pair of cool purple gloves and proceeds to poke and prod for a few minuets before pulling out her stethoscope and responding. “Look Alaura’s body has been through Hell and back her immune systems just vulnerable at the moment making her more susceptible to infection, or in this case a common cold. We will stick to the previously arranged plans and discharge her tomorrow morning, I would keep an eye on the cough but I can guarantee that it’s unrelated to the surgery.”

         My Aunt sighs a sigh of relief as she sinks into the chair opposite my gurney. I feel my lips quirk up into in a slight grin before my eyelids flutter closed. Freedom. Tomorrow I would be free of this room, which had become my sanitary prison over the last few months. No more IVs, no more respirators, no more beeping monitors, and no more being restricted to my gurney. Freedom.

         I am startled from my sleep by the sound of the curtain being swept aside. My doctor brushes past my room’s curtain divider and enters my half the room after having just visited the elderly woman recovering in the other ­­­half. With the help of a nurse he takes my vitals, reads my charts, and checks the monitors connected to my IV. He doesn’t utter a single word but he dose however nod to the nurse as if to say ‘everything is in order’.

I let out a sigh of relief as the nurse works at removing my IV. As she doses so, I strain to hear the conversation currently taking place out in the hallway. I’m just barley able to make out my doctor lecturing my Aunt.

“Alaura has sustained a lot of trauma not only physically, but mentally to. The loss of her parents is fresh and I recommend some form of counseling, whether it be through a class, or one on one with a therapist that’s up to you. She will also require daily physical therapy for the remainder of her adolescence.”

I can’t make out my Aunt’s muttered reply but I manage to catch the tale end of his response. “-Yes I see… well yes your right even Detroit has a steadier job market than us right now and they do have some wonderful physical therapists and the change of scenery will do her some good-” My blood runs cold and I thank god that I’ve already been disconnected from my monitor because my already weak heart has begun to palpitate. My mouth opens n a silent scream, this is not happening. I will not move to Detroit with I can’t leave Puff Town; I can’t leave my house on Windy Hollow, and the house my father built with his very hands as a wedding gift to my mother. I’m twenty-three for God sakes, I wont let the old cook order me around.

“Claire!” I holler at the top of my lungs, oblivious to the fact that I’ve woken up my neighbor as well as startled the nurse. “I am not moving! I have friends, a life and an academic career at stake, I cant just up and move!” My Aunt strolls into the room with her chin held high. She is giving me her most practical glare, the one usually she reserves for the courtroom.

“Alauriana Elise Richards! Lower your voice please, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from using that tone of voice with me.” She holds up her hand to ward of my interruption. “Now I don’t want to hear it. You couldn’t honestly believe that Jane- I mean your mother would have wanted you to live hallway across the nation from your only living relative now do you? And besides need I point out the fact that you have never been independent in your whole life. You have no job you’ve missed to much school to return to College and all your assets are frozen and in my control.”

She lowers her tone and motioning to the nurse to go, begins to stroke my hair. “I loved your mother and father just as much as you did, but you need to come to terms with the fact that they’re never coming back. You’re barley twenty, you have your whole life ahead of you. All I’m asking of you is that you stay in Detroit with me until you can get your feet on the ground and learn to cope with the loss. Please honey?” My blood is thundering in my ears and my hands feel clammy and damp as I squeeze my eyes together in an attempt to keep my tears at bay. My jaw is clenched almost as tightly as my fists, enabling me from formulating the witty retort I had planed so I mealy nod my head in defeat.