Suicidal Dreams

PART TWO

EVERYTHING WAS DISORIENTATED.

All I could make out was a bright, blinding light.

"Figures..." I mumbled to myself.

The light was so overwhelming, I had to squint and blink repetitively for my eyes to adjust. As things became clearer, I noticed that the room I was in was white, and then pain shocked throughout my entire body.

I winced and tried to move, but my whole body was stuck as if I had no muscle control.

If I'm dead, why am I in so much pain?

I hoped someone—an angel perhaps—would explain. However, I heard nothing; nothing aside from that God-awful buzzing sound.

Maybe I was in hell?

I mean, suicide was a sin after all.

I then heard a beeping noise, which only grew more irritating as my head throbbed. That's when my vision started to clear even more. I noticed the white, tile-looking formation on the roof, along with tubes that covered my face, and a heart monitoring machine that was next to me. My stomach began to churn as I started to put the puzzle pieces together.

The plain, white room, the annoying noises that I kept hearing, the tubes, the monitor, and then there was the agonising pain I was in. My eyes darted around the room frantically.

I wasn't in heaven or hell.

I was in hospital.

And this could only mean one thing.

"Great." I groaned loudly. I'm alive.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as my heart sped, making the machine next to me beep even louder, and then a nurse came into the room. She wore a huge smile that wrinkled her youthful face. "You're awake!" she said, stating the obvious.

If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have said something sarcastic in response. Instead, "Pain killers," was all I retorted.

She looked at me with a sympathetic smile, which made me grit my teeth. It was bad enough that she found my waking up as something positive, but the last thing I needed was her sympathy. The nurse checked something behind me, and then made some notes in a cream coloured folder that had my name on it. She seemed to take her time before she left.

When she finally returned, she gave me—what I assumed was—morphine. I honestly didn't care what she gave me so long as it got rid of the pain. The nurse told me with a dazzling, white smile that her name was Kelly, and explained some things to me that I couldn't be bothered listening to considering the pain I was in. Kelly somehow missed that I wasn't paying attention as she continued yapping on. I stared at her, noticing that every so often she would flip her blonde, wavy hair back over her thin shoulder. It was an idiosyncrasy or nervous habit that she probably was unaware of.

I continued daydreaming until she said something horrible. It was a choice word that was able to pull me from even the deepest pits of my mind. Fran. I was sure she'd said it, which meant doomsday was close on the horizon.

"W—w-what?" I stammered.

"Francesca," she repeated with a smile. "Your mother. She should be here shortly."

I leered in response.

Why this woman kept smiling at bad news was beyond me.

After that, a doctor entered the room with a kind smile. Both he and Kelly assessed my vitals, along with some other tests, which included seeing if I had feeling in my limbs.

Thankfully, I did.

When they finally left me alone, I shut my eyes and tried desperately to go back to sleep. All the while, I kept praying that I would wake up from this nightmare. I contemplated many different excuses and plotted my sweet escape. I was so desperate to break free that I would have simply got up and run, but the fact that I was unable to move made that physically impossible.

I was stuck here, trapped like some kind of caged animal.

My heart thudded harder, making the machine I was connected to beep even more ravenously. Meanwhile, my mind continued to race, spiralling downward....

What if I could never move again and was forever paralysed from the neck down?