It has been exactly four days since the accident and I was still in the same old and dusty hospital room with needles poked into my arms. I had miraculously "woken up" for my coma but I still had trouble breathing on my own because they had done some kind of surgery to my pierced lung. They had cut open my throat and inserted a tube there to help me breathe, it was no longer down my throat, which I was glad for. I couldn't speak though, that was a downside. The constant urge to scream came every now and then because all I had to entertain myself was my voice.
My mother has visited me everyday since the accident but her new husband couldn't come everyday because he has some important work somewhere far away. Louis has dropped by often but he's in college now so he can't come all the time. Today, I got a text from my mother saying she has an important meeting so she cannot come visit me. I don't really mind because I can only listen to her babble on about what's happening at her work place. The nurse has given me a white board and marker in case I need to tell them something. So far, I haven't said or written down a word. How could I be so stupid? I had passed my drivers test perfectly. The feeling of shame was building in the pit of my stomach more and more as the days passed by at the hospital.
I grabbed my phone from the side table only to be disappointed because I had no texts or calls. I went for the casual, Facebook. I ended up closing the app right away though because my friends were posting pictures from even more parties and such. Nobody had posted any "get better Autumn!" wishes, nobody. I took in a big breath and the machine connected to the breathing tube made a loud buzzing noise. I exhaled. It stopped. If I breathed normally, then it wouldn't make that loud of a noise but it was still very annoying. Most of my days went on like this. Boring and slow. Something that always made my day happened around 2:05 pm, every afternoon. A boy, probably my age, would walk past my room door and carry on walking down the corridor. That was basically it. But the way he walked so casually interested me. I waited for him to pass every afternoon so I could see the way his back muscles flexed under his black or white shirt as he took his steps. I always got a small glimpse of his tattoos as he walked back the same way. A large ship and rose was all I could make out so far. I never got a good look at him because I got my lunch time medication around two and the stupid pills made my eyesight slightly blurry. One thing I could make out was the dark hair he had and how it was either tucked messily behind a bandana or how it was neatly up in a perfect quiff.
I adjusted my bed by pushing a few buttons on the side and took out my earphones and plugged them into my phone. I pressed shuffle and closed my eyes. "Try" by Colbie Caillat started playing and I smiled lazily. This song always calmed me down. It was about 1:15pm when I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away by the sweet melody of the song.
I hadn't realized I fell asleep until I noticed my music was no longer playing. I'm guessing my nurse took out my earphones when she saw I was asleep. I glanced at the clock next to the door. 2:07pm. I missed it. Oh well. He comes around literally everyday so I guess what's missing one day. The more I talked about it, the more I sounded like a creep. I don't get why I enjoy watching a total stranger walk past my room but for some reason, it's the only constant in my days at the hospital and it soothes me. My mother had brought my bag of necessities which included my sketching journal and phone. I reached over to grab my journal and flipped to the next open page. With the pencil that was slotted in the leather binding of the journal, I began to sketch. Soon my shapes and lines formed into something recognizable, I had drawn my home. I missed home. I missed my own room and Louis barging in unannounced. I missed it. A single tear ran down my left cheek at just the thought of being with the people I love. God knows how long I'll be stuck in this place. The doctors said probably a few more days. It could even be weeks depending on how well I'm doing. I quickly wipe away my tear, dismissing any signs of sadness I had.