7:51

2.

I'm not aware of much.

I can feel the bus fly off the road, spinning round and flinging me with it. I can feel the ground that has never seemed harder than when I slam into it.

I can smell vomit; I'm not sure whose. I can smell smoke from the coach that's now motionless.

I can hear screaming and yelling and crying from the children. I can hear Noah yelling my name over and over, getting closer each time.

But I can see...nothing.

I want to open my eyes. I want to open my mouth and tell Noah I'm okay. I want to hold his hand and squeeze it when he begs me to.

The trouble is, I can't do any of that. All I can do is lie there and stare into the black of my eyelids. So I give in to the pull that's tugging me further under and let my body fall heavier than it already feels.

*

The next thing I remember is silence, except for regular beeping and a foreign whirring. My first instinct is to cry out for help or for someone to explain what's going on. I'm quickly stopped, however, by the feeling that I have no muscles in my throat...or anywhere. It makes me want to panic, but even that I can't really do. My heart rate doesn't pick up, my breathing doesn't increase, my stomach doesn't flip and churn.

Once again, I can't do anything.

*

Minutes, hours or even days later I hear the door open and know straight away who it is. People have been in and out the whole time, some talking to me and some just doing whatever job they'd walked in there to do. But this time I know it's not just another nurse or doctor.

"Oh, Beth," Noah whispers and I hear the crack in his voice. Desperation to look at him and hold him overwhelms me, but of course the only thing I can do is stay where I am and lie motionless, silent. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

What he's apologising for, I don't know. Of course I'm aware that the bus crashed, but that wasn't his fault. And why is he apologising to me? What's wrong with me that he needs to be sorry for? It's obvious I'm in a hospital bed but...I'm still alive. There can't be that much wrong with me. Can there?

"The kids are all fine. Shaken up, but fine," Noah assures me. "I just...I wish I could say the same for you, Beth."

What isn't he telling me? Why can't I ask him myself?

"I mean...maybe you don't want to know. Maybe you already do. But...the person in the car...they died. The emergency services ran straight to you, and they made sure all the kids were fine, but they couldn't help the other person. And I tried to keep the kids away and...you know...not let them see anything, but I don't know. It was just so awful out there. I hate that they had to see any of it...that they had to see you.

This makes more sense, because I knew I hadn't ended up in the best state. But it doesn't explain why Noah is acting so strange or talking so differently to normal.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. Two days I've been desperate to see you and this is the first thing I talk to you about? God, what's wrong with me? Maybe I hit my head a little harder than I thought," Noah rambles. "It's just...they say that you should talk to people in comas."

I was in a coma?

It shouldn't come as a surprise, really. It sounds like I've been unconscious for two days, unable to move or speak. But that doesn't make it any easier to hear.