As I strut through the glass doors, I trip on a pile of Autumn leaves. Just as I am composing myself I jump as I receive a soft tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a clearly nervous employee of mine.
"Hey..." I wince, trying to remember his name. He's not a bad looking guy, he has hazel eyes, sharp looking cheek bones and ash-black hair. "Henry!" I awkwardly interjected into the silence.
"Please, d-don't fire me," he stuttered "I have s-some bad news."
My face instantly dropped. "Henry, w-what is it?" Oh great, now I'm the one stuttering.
"It's your fiancé, A-Alex." He looks down at the pavement.
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"C-Coma?" I breathe as I practically sprint down the corridor, with nurse... Maya.
"Yes."
"Coma," now I sound like the one answering the questions. She nods, a sad expression crossing her face.
"Coma!" I screech. "What the hell!" I sputter. She doesn't respond.
"How?" I ask politely. Still silence.
"How?" I request sternly.
She sighs, "We haven't got a conclusive diagnosis yet."
"Well find one!" I basicly scream, she winces and points to his private room.
Before I go in I rage and smash a picture titled 'The Beauty of Butterflies.'
"Dammit Alex!" I yell through the yellow halls. "I love you, too much to lose you." A salty tear runs down my face smudging my smokey make-up.
As I walk into his room I see the walls are baby blue and blankets, white, not matching the vomit green colour floor. And that's when my mind empties.
I see a pale faced Alex with his disheveled, blonde hair, angular cheek bones and soft lips just lying there with a peaceful expression on his face.
I clumsily kneel by his hospital bed and kiss his forehead.
A tear crawls down my face. Why? Nahhh, actually I don't care. I just want to know how to fix it.
Briiiing, briiiing, bring. My phone breaks my train of thought. I listen to the seemingly deafening for what seems like an eternity, before shutting down my phone.
"Aww, baby what are we gonna do?" I whisper.
"Ahhem," someone clears their throat.
"Umm, hey," I mutter, so, incredibly clad I'm too lost for my cheeks to go bright red. "I there any news yet?" I ask in a vague tone as I face the person I am speaking to. He must be in his early thirties, he has a very clear five o'clock shadow -I'm guessing from the long hours- and disheveled, smokey-blonde hair. The -obviously forced- soft expression he wears does little to comfort me.
"Well, out with it." God, I think I sound like a grumpy old lady. I only just manage not to roll my eyes.
"I'm Dr. Paul," he introduces himself "my condolences... about your husband." I grit my teeth.
"Fiancé." I deadpan.
YOU ARE READING
Finding Myself
AdventureShortly after her fiance becomes comatose, twenty-six year old Rebecca Parker begins to do some soul searching. Rebecca soon finds her self asking the important question, is this really where she wants to be?
