Even in the depths of my unconscious, I can hear the tedious noise of some form of electronic device. It's creating some incessant beeping that has my ears ringing, it's almost as annoying as an alarm clock. It's painful enough to be woken up when in a pleasant slumber, never mind being awoken by some torture machine.
Despite the constant reverberations, there are other elements that are managing to make this experience worse. Wherever I am, it possesses this intense stench of bleach and detergent, the strength of it makes me feel like a parasite being targeted by industrial chemicals. The odour has my head pounding like a bass drum in a rock band, the undertones are nauseating.
In an attempt to sit up, I shuffle around a little on what I am assuming is a bed from the sound of springs and the slightly soft padding beneath my butt. However, the small twists of my body cause a tsunami of pain to wash over me, so I release a large grunt in recognition of this agony. I'm just going to power through, all of my blood has settled in my arse and back and I now have pins and needles coating the majority of my body.
With the screeching of monitors and bedding, I have an idea of where I am - somewhere I don't want to be. The fact that my cornea's are also being fried beneath their protective sheet only adds to the conclusion. However, the only way to be certain is to actually open my eyes despite the weight within the lids.
Baby steps. One eye before the other. I have a feeling my face resembles that of a toad, probably the least attractive I've ever looked. Due to the extreme levels of light being produced, the bulbs are definitely clinical with the high wattage.
Not only that, being attached to several machines with white and grey wires that intrude through layers of my skin only clarify my nightmare. Two IV's feels like too many. One is pumping blood back into my body, while the other is supplying me with fluids - I may have been dehydrated.
Hospitals are my worst fear. Something about all of the disease and death makes me want to shrivel up and die. I can't remember why I'm even here. It is very unlikely that I brought myself here, I'd rather eat cement than admit myself to medical care. Mum and Dad are still away for business. And I'm pretty sure none of the Squad were over, so it couldn't have been them.
All I can recall is going out to get firewood because our heater blew up in my face. No other images come up, but the emotions are rather intensely embedded in my mind. I'd been petrified of something. My eyebrows dip at the memory. Something was making me cold, like life was draining from me - probably blood loss. Nothing else jumps out.
Glancing around, I don't think it's possible for me to sneak out of the window without someone noticing. Since I don't know how to turn off the machines, they'd have a fit if I detached myself from them. Plus, if the number of bandages is anything to go off of, I'm not in good shape. Climbing down a building wall would only rupture something.
Maybe whatever is beneath the tape can tell me the rest of the story. But as my hand is reaching down to one of the plasters on my wrist, the sudden opening of the room's door makes me jump. It isn't thrown open, though the change in my solitude does take me by surprise.
Two familiar figures wander in before the door closes behind them automatically. They're too caught up in their debate to realise I'm awake and staring at them, fairly surprised too. To most, it may appear calm and collected, but to anyone who knows them you can see their fight is one-sided and confrontational.
The first voice is hesitantly shaking, filled with worry and confusion. However, there is determination and dominance. The second is strong, logical and backed up with knowledge. It doesn't take a genius to figure out which is which.
She's clutching to her disposable coffee cup as though it is a valuable jewel he is threatening to steal. If she isn't careful, she'll be the one needing medical attention for serious scorches when the cup snaps. He also has a hot beverage, more likely tea than coffee since it holds more caffeine.
Her gorgeous features have been dragged down by panic and unnecessary concern, causing lines to appear on her olive skin. Her frown has dug a deep ditch between her eyebrows while the corners of her pink lips are pointing to her shoulders. A major contradiction to her entire demeanour is a gentleman with slumped shoulders and relaxed expression.
How he deals with her on a daily basis is a mystery. Sometimes I can barely tolerate her for more than an hour. I don't get how he's managing not to laugh at the rambles of his mad wife. Her frantic ideas of never again leaving the house for my sake amuses us both since she can't sit in the same room for more than an hour.
The smell of her instant coffee makes my mouth drool with a thirst for the bitter drink. The beautiful scent even has my stomach rumbling for something more than proteins provided via the intravenous therapy. Hospital sustenance is probably one of the worst meals in existence, it's only a touch more tolerable than aeroplane food.
My face of hunger is caught by my Father, making him smirk and snigger at my desperately starved pout. Whilst my Mother continues her argument about life choices, he winks with a particular reassurance that he'll take care of her current panic. The message also eases my nerves about being here, I inherited my distaste for clinical buildings from him.
It doesn't take long for her to pick up on his playful smile. The sight of happiness must bother her as she grows in aggravation before following his gaze to me. She's such a fuss pot. Honestly, you'd think I died with the look of relief on her face.
"Hello, Parental Units. Such lovely weather we are having." The sarcasm drips from every word as the rain splashes against the ajar window. The simplicity of each word doesn't help to mask the scratch of clearly damaged vocal chords.
"Oh Heavens above, My Baby Girl!" She's not even religious. It doesn't take her another second to dart over and force me into her open arms. Before she's even engulfed me, I know how much it is going to hurt.
Her arms snake around my shoulders, dragging a groan out of my lips as she squashes me in her forlorn show of affection. The unexpected jolting of my body leaves wounds burning and irritated from rubbing against the fabric protecting them. I can't even move away because she'll only cling tighter.
Father Dearest is far more classic. Instead of breaking my spine, he stands at our side to ruffle my hair. He is kind enough to remain gentle and not jar my neck with the large bandage wrapped around it whilst also avoiding the tight patch on the back of my skull.
I got my lack of emotional control from her, so it isn't surprising when icy tears start dripping onto my shoulder from her scrunched eyes. I pat her back while she sobs, that is until it starts getting too much for me to withstand.
"Mum, I love you and all, but this really fucking hurts." I grunt with as little pain as possible. "Don't start with me, and watch your tongue."
"If you continue squeezing me, you're going to cut off my airways and restrict my air flow. You're also pushing my arms into my rib cage quite violently, it will stop my lungs from being able to expand properly and I will suffocate." I also inherited her sass, but definitely Dad's brain. "Quit throwing facts at me."
Though reluctant she does release her firm grip, allowing me to sink back into the rocky pillows. Her eyes remain on me while running her fingers over my cheek, I pay the treatment no mind, instead try to make the bed less stony.
"What do you expect me to do with my knowledge if I can't share it?" Her tears dry to make way for a displeased scowl. "Shut your gob and not be snarky is one option."
"Yes, Ma'am." Normally, I would salute at the end also but the clothes and wires make that kind of difficult. She rolls her eyes, knowing what I would prefer to have done.
Moving to the bottom of the bed, she sits by my feet. I'm too much like my Father in her opinion. I may have her emotional control and looks, but everything else is purely my Father. That's the reason he and I are always fighting, we get stuck in a loop of throwing facts at each other to support our point until we tire ourselves out. That's often when we'll find her listening to music at full volume.
"You two are ridiculous." She says after seeing the two of us hold in our laughter. "Technically, that is part of having a family. Many family counsellors say it is natural to push your relatives to the point of insanity but also be there to rebuild the sanity."
"I'm beginning to regret letting you do Psychology at college." She pinches her nose, "You say that about most of my classes." I lean forward, squinting as my stomach voices its level of damage. "Besides, they'd be fucked if it wasn't for me."
"Language!" Just as quickly I fire back, "English." Cue the disapproving look of a Mother. It's not quite the one that tells you you've fucked up, but the one where you need to stop talking before something is thrown at you.
For the next few minutes, Dad and I make a few jokes about both of us being in a place that gives us the chills. Then Mum rushes out into the hallway to get a Doctor now that I'm awake. She's gone before I can tell her not to. All they are going to do is poke at my cuts before telling me to rest.
Once the door closes, we share a look. He's always been more laid back, meaning he is the one to keep his head when something falls apart. If I ever do something I can't fix on my own, I'll go to him to prevent a massive fuss being made. His best skill in their marriage is keeping her grounded while she throws a tizzy.
"I thought you had an important meeting this week?" I reach over to the table beside me, trying to sneak a sip of his Vimto. "Zoe, you're in the hospital."
"Your point?" Seeing me raise the liquid to my mouth, he snatches it away. "You're our daughter, Birdie. Do you think that doesn't make you a priority? Besides, it's not like your Mother could put her phone away for five seconds after getting the call."
"Good enough point. How many days has it been then?" I wiggle around in an attempt to ease the itch on my back that can't be reached due to the gauze. "You've been asleep for two. We had to get a plane home while someone from the company drives the car home, your Mother wanted to get back as soon as possible." His hand reaches out, pushing my hair back from my eyes upon seeing me struggle to raise my arm past my chest. "The Doctors needed our signatures for surgery since you're under eighteen. We got here about two hours ago -"
"- Surgery?" My eyes are bulging, teeth digging into my lip. This day just got a whole lot worse. "It's necessary, Birdie."
"Is it though?" I squeak, regretting everything in my life up to now. My throat is starting to hurt more and more without the help of a drink. It's as though someone lit a match in my oesophagus. "Majority of the bites have torn through all layers of your skin and muscle, a few of your bones have been cracked. Your ankle is completely broken." Seeing my expression, he perches to my side. "You need stitching up, and your organs need checking since the MRI couldn't get a clear scan."
"An unclear MRI?" I've never heard of such a thing, and neither has he with that face. "Still doesn't mean I'm willing to go under the knife."
"Birdie, this isn't going to be negotiated." I pout, refusing to look at him. "I'm already in the hospital, surgery makes everything worse..."
"I know, Sweetie." His palm brushes against the back of my head, smoothing over what is likely a mass of knots. "It's necessary. The Doctor said that without it, some of your wounds won't heal in a way that they look normal."
"I don't mind, it'll give me character." I wink, making him chuckle.
As she will refuse to discuss it in front of me, we begin sharing our week's activities up to this point since I'm always intrigued by their meetings. This time they went to Stonewood. It's a larger city down south on the coast. They were supposed to be there for another two weeks due to a trade deal, and the opening of a new shopping centre they've been building for a year.
The thing with their business is, they do everything. They have a publishing industry for novels and music. They own a bank branch since he has a degree in accounting as well as one in law, so two years ago they opened a legal firm. On top of that, they own several research centres for new diseases that haven't been considered for long term cures or medication. They own the title of many small companies and shops, hence the new centre.
Of course it takes a lot of employees to run all of this, resulting in Mother opening a scholarship deal. Anyone who wants to be funded for higher education can get all of their finances covered as long as they agree to work under their company once graduated. It's incredible how many have taken up the offer.
I've recently suggested they look into starting an electronic manufacturing service as it could bring a massive incline in clients and profits. With electronic devices ruling the world, it could be a major opportunity with current economics.
I just manage to finish telling him my ideas for the company when the petty woman comes rushing back in, obviously flustered over something. "You've been talking about the business, haven't you?" She looks across our blank faces that we always resort to when doing something we shouldn't. Controlled smirks then take over. "She is in no state for that." Her arms fold, mine and his eyes rolling in sync.
"Why are you red faced? Did you see a Spider?" I wiggle my fingers to mimic the legs of the cute insect. "Oh right. I didn't see a Crawling Demon, but a Nurse pointed out that we aren't supposed to be here and tried escorting me out." She fans herself, rosy cheeks not calming. "So you ran?"
"No, I just said I needed the bathroom." She doesn't meet my eyes, trying to act like nothing happened. "You ran." I stare her down when a scowl is thrown at me. She doesn't become this red faced unless involved in some form of physical exertion. "It is two in the morning, Hun, someone was going to ask us to leave." She glowers at him too before slumping into the chair in the corner while chuntering, "This could all have been avoided if you hadn't gone into the flaming forest. How many times must I tell you to stay in the garden?"
"The heater is broken, it was either go get wood or freeze to death." My tone makes her scoff, "For a genius, you can be pretty stupid at times." I don't respond, instead close my eyes for a power nap.
About a minute later a stunning young woman walks in, a bright smile stretching across her face. Long chestnut hair has been pulled back into a bun, keeping the laws of hygiene. Bewitching eyes rise to meet all of us, one at a time. It's as though I'm looking into starlight.
"I'm afraid I need the two of you to leave. Visiting hours are from ten till eight." She's gentle, not scorning like the other Nurses I've met in my life - one of the things I hate about appointments. "But we're her parents." My Mother is trying to keep the snap out of her answers, instead it's drenched with panic. "I truly understand, Miss. However, I am not obligated to give any exceptions. My apologies."
"No, I apologise for my Wife. We'll get out of your way. Come on, Carrie, stop making a fuss." He helps her from her chair, holding her bag and guiding her from the room with a hand on her spine. He's trying to move as quickly as he can in case she turns to refuse. "See you later, Birdie."
"See ya. Make sure she sleeps, milk and honey are in the fridge." He sighs, relieved that we have the ingredients for her knockout potion.
The poor woman has to watch as my Mother tries clawing her way back to my side. It's the early hours of the morning and the last thing she probably wants to deal with is an overprotective Mother. "I'm sorry about her." The lovely lady's eyes shift to me from the door after watching my Mother be dragged away. "She's just being a parent, I've dealt with far worse."
"That's possible?" My spoken thought makes her laugh. "It is, I've had to ask security to remove some parents off of the premises for stopping us from doing our job. Now, I'm Leah, I just need to check your vitals before the Doctors take you into surgery."
"Is it really needed?" She opens her folder, sadly smiling down at me. "Not a fan?" She flicks through the notes for a moment, before putting them down. "Not at all."
"It is vital that we get you into surgery because of the damage your body has sustained. All of your wounds could be infected since you were injured by a wild animal, which could lead to serious complications. According to your X-Rays and MRI, you have a few broken bones and tears in your muscles, so we need to get you stitched up and fully repaired. There's also the matter of your haemorrhage; medicine doesn't seem to be reducing the mass other than stabilising the state, so it needs removing manually." Obviously it isn't as bad as Father made it sound. "Alright then."
In the best form of comfort she can give, an encouraging smile comes to her lips while squeezing my hand for a moment. She then proceeds to note every number on the monitors down, seeming happy with the details.
"What school do you go to then?" She's trying to distract me as she checks for any new concerns. "Pickingrod High school and Sixth form."
"I'm assuming it's your last year with your written age." She then asks me to read an extract in case of a late onset concussion. "Yeah, turning eighteen in six weeks and then break off." She grins, sitting on the bed beside me. "Planning to attend University?"
"That's what's expected." Her cheerfulness fails. "You don't want to?" A scowl is cast at the monitors after doing some comparisons. "I'm not sure yet."
"Understandable, it isn't for everyone. Bear with me for a moment, I need to do some tests manually. The monitors can't get an accurate reading." The technology looks top quality, they shouldn't be struggling to do their job. "How are they incorrect?"
"Oh, the numbers given don't match up to each other. If they were slightly out, it means there is probable cause which we can work with. But they are nowhere near what they should be, and your physical symptoms don't match up." She's not lying, I can see it in her eyes, the facts just don't make sense.
"What are your career aims then?" She takes a device from a drawer on the table beside us. Setting it up, she moves expertly. "I'll probably take over my family's business."
"Is that what you want?" I always find it amusing that medics and hairdressers are chatty, and it never feels overly weird to give them your life story. "I'm not sure yet. With the things I'm taking at college, I have the potential for many of the areas. There's also several ideas I have that would improve the company drastically. Not to mention how much of it is helpful to humanity." The band deflates from around my arm as her fingers press against the inside of my wrist. I can't help but want to move around, I just have an urge to complete a marathon.
"But is it something you're going to be excited to do when you wake up in the morning?" She reads my expression and decides to move on because I honestly have no idea. "What courses do you take then?"
"A large selection. I boost the College's grade percentage by taking whatever exams they need me to." Eyes involuntarily closing, lungs contracting and staying there as if they've been covered in thick layers of concrete. I can no longer move the organ, so essentially I'm suffocating. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, the rhythm slowing down to a barely recognisable pattern as it soon comes to a stop.
The electronics start yelling at her, blaring out a warning noise as I ease into death, again. She doesn't seem to have noticed my struggle seeing that she looks at the screen then at me in confusion, removing her hand and laying me down flat on my back. "Take deep breaths for me please, Miss Smith. I need you to try and focus on your breathing. It's going to be fine, keep breathing." Why does everyone always say that?
She's rapidly hitting the button down the side of my bed to alert the Doctor's of the occurrence. Her hand is at my neck, keeping track of my pulse instead of the monitor since it's having a meltdown. It keeps telling her it's stopped then rapid then normal. None of the devices can determine whether I'm alive or not.
Her lips are moving in clear succession, but no noise is actually flooding my brain. I think she's telling me about cardiac arrest and shock - I am not a lip reader. Poor love is stressing out.
A handful of Doctor's then rampage in and shout words around, she answers to fill them in on the random attack. One is holding a tube, probably to help me breathe better than the mask was doing, I yanked it off earlier. They don't appear to have time to give me anaesthetic, instead asking me to open my mouth. From what I know, it isn't exactly common for someone to still be conscious while experiencing this.
The plastic scratches at the inside of my throat as it slides down my airways, a tiny gag occurring though I try to ignore. A pricking on my arm tells me they're now giving me the sedative to get me straight into surgery. They weren't sure if any organs were damaged, and this may be the result of uncertainty.