The next couple of weeks were literal hell.
Hell as in fire by the way.
I underwent a billion and one tests. Underwent an excruciating amount of interviews - even when Annabelle made them easy they still sucked. I had to relive every single page of this horror novel all over again.
What happened when I fell down the stairs? Specifically. You know, that one oppsie-daisy that started this whole cascade of unfortunate events.
Who saved me?
Who took me to the hospital?
What happened there?
What happened with Blake and Lucas and Jesse?
The list of questions just expanded with every event that once occurred. At some point, it felt like I was the one being interrogated rather than the one being interviewed for information.
I haven't been to my house yet, I haven't visited my parents, and I didn't even get a chance to see Brenda and Sabrina or even CJ and Jace. As soon as we left that hell hole, Annabelle decided it would be better to go back to LA, but I wasn't allowed to go home. Since we didn't know what it was that made CJ so sick, they decided to put me into a negative pressure room at one of their health facilities while they took the time to figure out what it was. In the meantime, instead of allowing me to rest and recoup, they started drilling me with questions. According to the psychologist, it is better to recall things when they are still fresh.
Yes, they got me a shrink.
They said that it isn't normal for a teenager go through all of that trauma and horror and come out of it unscathed. I mean so far I'm not really feeling anything. I don't know if it was because my brain just shut down or because it was preparing me for a worse trauma to come.
I stayed in the health center for a full week. A full week of blood work and neuro check-ups. A full week or stress tests and sleep clinics. A full week, and they haven't been able to find anything. The doctors and techs were amazed, and honestly so was I. I went through a lot. The death of Jesse and the death of my uncle and the whole ordeal with CJ. This is enough to crumple down a mountain made of steel, so why was I not phased? Why isn't my body responding to these events the way a normal body would? I'm not getting any night terrors, or waking up in the middle of the night with cold sweats. I don't even have nightmares. I know for a fact that I should be experiencing at least some form of PTSD but I'm not, which is weird, and honestly a little scary. Am I not normal? Or have movies went out of their way to romanticize trauma that it was embedded in our head that every person who goes through something has to turn into a victim of sorts?
"A penny for your thoughts?"
"Oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar. They're worth so much more after I'm a goner?" I sing in response.
The look on Dr. Erindale's face was a sight to behold.
"I'm kidding. It's a song sir." He looked at me with confusion, then chuckled- shaking his head.
"I definitely need to update my music playlist. I can barely keep up with you children and all these new, hip songs."
"Hip songs? New? Doc this song is pretty old. Don't worry though, I'll give you my updated Spotify playlist before I leave."
He walked over to my bed side and pulled the visitor chair closer.
He smiled. "So pretty soon then."
"Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Am I finally being given permission to walk out of here? Am I really one step closer to being back to normal?
YOU ARE READING
The Girl They Never Noticed
Teen Fiction✨COMPLETED✨ I took a few steps before I stopped to face him again. "Jay?" I said, barely above a whisper. "Hmm?" "I love you. You know that right?" I asked, kind of unsure. "of course. Of course I do." He said, scrunching his eyebrows as if he doesn...
