The Private Clinic

CHAPTER 3 - JULIET HARDWIN

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Juliet Hardwin - the day after the accident

The rhythm of my heartbeat was the first thing to wake me, I was already conscious for a minute or two, but couldn't make my heavy eyes open up – they tried their best now. I weakly glance around the room, the nice, pale yellow beams of light from the winter sun enter the room through the curtains, making the dust floating around look like fairy dust.

I close my eyes again before I can fully comprehend what is going on. My heartbeat sounds stable, and I kind of felt that way. But how should I know when your heart beats properly? My eyes snap open again, I take in my surroundings slowly. The room is white, walls, floor, bed, bedsheets. The only burst of color is the vase with flowers on the white desk in the corner.

My gaze falls on a man standing next to the window, looking through a folder. I don't recognize him, so it takes me a while to understand where I supposedly am – my first guess is the hospital.

I try and attempt to greet the stranger, but when I open my mouth, I realize my throat is way too scratchy to produce a sound. My attempts still catch his attention, and he closes the folder and glances down at me.

"Hi, good morning. I'm glad you're awake." The man spoke in a friendly tone, before walking over to my nightstand and holding up a cup of water with a straw in it.

I scraped my throat, refusing the liquid, and tried to move my body in a more comfortable position. He stopped me immediately, saying something like I should gain more strength.

"Where am I?" I muttered.

"You're safe," he reached for my hand and stroked it, "You're in my private clinic, no need for any worries."

I close my eyes when my eyebrows knit together. Why was I here again?

"Where is my mom. . . and my dad?"

"Oh, you're quite the selfless girl, aren't you? Your parents are doing okay in the intensive care of the local hospital."

"Why are they. . . Why am I here?"

Tears blur my vision, and I don't even understand how I got so emotional. I feel so weak, I cant even properly finish sentences in one go.

"Rest your mind, dear, no need to overthink this. Your parents prioritized your wellbeing over themselves – they want your recovery to be monitored as best as possible."

"Recover from. . . what?"

My body feels stiff under the warm blanket. It takes me a moment before I realize I can't move my legs, they're both stuck in a cast. I wiggle my toes in stress, but I'm relieved when I realize I can still move them.

The stranger has a timid smile across his face.

"Recover from your injuries."

I weakly bring my hand to my face and rub my forehead. Pulses of pain bounce around in my head.

"I don't remember what happened."

I stare at the IV drip neatly pasted on my arm. I'm glad I wasn't awake to feel that going in, I hate needles and everything related.

"Don't worry too much about it, while your body is recovering, we need that little head of yours to do the same. After all, it was a big hit."

The tears I tried to resist flow past my cheeks now. "When I try to scape my mind to remember something, all I get is a headache."