No Strings Attached

Chapter 9: Recovery

White was everywhere; from the ceiling to the cold tiled floor, I feel like I am being locked away in a mental institution.

And I have my itchy hospital gown to prove it.

Looking around, I saw my parents sitting right next to me.

They both wore dark brown trench coats, glossy black clothes, and tired expressions. And while Mom had her dark hair into a messy bun, Dad's hair was shaven off cleanly.

Adjusting my eyes for a moment, I mumbled, "Mom? Dad?"

Surprised, my parents rushed over to my side, giving me hugs and kisses.

"My sweet baby, " Mom sobbed, stroking my tender face. "You are fine."

"Thank God." Dad beamed.

Immediately I felt tears rushing down my face.

"I am sorry I didn't come home, " I wept. "I am sorry I made you guys worry."

Dad only kissed me on the forehead then smiled.

"It's alright, Nadine," he said in an understanding tone. "You just rest now."

I try to smile, but it ended up into a recoiled frown.

"Where are my friends?" I questioned. "Are they alive as well?"

Mom and Dad both nodded.

"Yes, " said Mom. "As we speak, they are comforted by their families."

Smiling some more, I leaped out of bed then searched for them.

Heading North, I maneuvered past doctors, sick patients, and nurses, until I found Marco, Aria, and James all lying across from each other.

All of them wore light blue hospital gowns; needles pricked their arms, as Marco, Aria, and James are surrounding by their distraught families.

Some were joyful that their children survived but a few, like Marco's mother greeted their kids with hostility.

Moments after he has recovered from his wounds, Marco groaned when his parents bombarded him with tedious questions.

"My God, Marco." his mother shrieked. "Why are you wearing nail polish? It's for girls!"

Bitter, Marco ripped his hand away from his strict mother then stared at his indigo blue nails.

Mrs. Martinez is a stout woman in her early forties, who wears a light brown evening dress, black pumps, and jewelry to match her caramel colored skin.

Dark eyes glued Marco's exhausted face, as Mrs. Martinez tries to make sense of what is going on.

But the more Marco told her the truth, the angrier she became.

"I told you for the last time, Mom." sighed Marco. "It wasn't James' fault: he was just trying to—"

"Put you at risk." Mrs. Martinez finished. "As soon as you are discharged, we are going to have a word with Pastor Philips."

Marco threw his hands in the air.

"Mom, I am sick of going to that fucking priest every week!" he shrilled. "I want to go home."

"Not until you talk to the pastor," she argued.

"About what?" Marco challenged. "The bisexuality thing, or the fact that you don't give a shit about me?"

Bottled with rage, Mrs. Martinez was about to dispute when she noticed me standing there.

"Nadine?" said Mrs. Martinez, studying me very closely. "Is that you?"