Familiarity

Chapter Twenty-Eight

i just wanted to say, i didn't do any research on the stuff i stayed in this chapter.

instead, i decided to trust my memory from my own experiences after my three heart surgeries (all of which i can't rlly remember and happened like 7+ years ago LMAOO). so if anything's wrong or inaccurate, sorry. i just know my 6 yr old ass was knocked out HEAVILY ten yrs ago, and i will never forget going into my "step-down" room and later into the reg. room (and while in my stay there, watching a clown's pants drop right in front of my eyes).

also, in the last chapter's notes, when i posted it (also about three minutes from when i will post this chapter) i said i would post this later, but im lazy and will probably forget, so here it is

warning: short mention of suicide at the very beginning

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The woman with the elastic body was desperate. She had given a last-ditch effort, and she had been killed.

Medics assigned to help you and your classmates were on the beds beside you when you awoke for the first time, completely numb and merely watching the world turn without you.

Your body was heavy.

You would barely comprehend what was happening if it wasn't overwhelmingly obvious.

The elastic woman was in a bag in front of you. Someone must've killed her for what she did. Or maybe she had killed herself.

Doctors and nurses were swarming the room.

Blood was on their gloves, their scrubs.

It was on the floor and eerily dripping from your own body—the body that was basically a corpse; the body that no longer felt like your own.

Someone was above you, talking to you and trying to get you to respond.

You were weak.

You felt your expression shift as you tried to sit up, to move, to look around the room.

But you were unable to accomplish anything but a slight jut in your shoulder and a turn of your head.

You were facing the bed to your left.

People concealed the body that blinding, white lights shone down upon.

There were the sounds of wheels and a sudden disperse of the bodies.

The bed was no longer concealed.

Kirishima was no longer hidden.

A breathing mask covered his nose and mouth, a clear tube running to a machine beside his bed. The tube dipped down to his abdomen when he exhaled, staining itself in his blood.

He looked sickly pale and was staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

He looked like a kid.

He was a kid, but he looked like that boy you met ten years before.

With that small face and fragile outside, hurt by his own hands.

Who's tough skin used to hurt him, but now, wasn't there to protect him in those moments.

He was bleeding more than you could remember him being hurt.

Gashes ran across his chest and cheek.

Each breath made the blood lump on the edge of his wound and then fall down his torso.

You watched his eyes trail over to you, his reaction completely blank.