Fly Away

36 - home?

Song: The Neighbourhood - Fallen Star (Slowed + Reverb)

Mia

She could hear the beeping of a machine next to her and slowly turned her head, wincing slightly at the pain that followed from the sudden movement.

She wanted to cry and scream and ask anybody why she was in pain, surrounded by lights too bright and by the clogging smell of strong bleach and laundry detergent that smelled off and wafted through her nose. 

She was shivering, but the sweat that coated her skin felt like another suffocating layer of heat against her body. 

She turned her head to the other side and spotted another bed with identical machines to hers that stood on one side, and the bright white sheets rumpled as a figure lay stock still.

It was a boy.

She suddenly wanted to cry for this boy. He probably didn't know where he was or what had happened to him, the same as her.

His hair was black and his finger was attached to a thick clip. She lifted her own hand and came to the realisation that there was an identical clip on her own finger.

She turned back to the boy, wondering who he was and what had happened to him. 

Was he dead? He wasn't moving, and there was a long loud beep sounding through the room now, making the blood pump in her ears, attempting to block out the shrill noise.

She wanted to get out of here, go back home, but a black void bloomed up inside her head, making her heart race and her hands shake. 

Where was she?

Just then, a flurry of nurses covered in blue scrubs the shade of the sky, ran into the room and crowded around the boy. The girl noticed one of the nurses holding a pair of blocks which she then placed on the boys chest.

She screamed when he jolted against the bed, but no sound came out as the darkness gripped her tender mind and pulled her into unconsciousness.

I sit up in bed, my body drenched in sweat and my left shoulder pounding.

My breathing is heavy and my blood is hot in my veins, making it hard to concentrate on my surroundings.

The scraping of a chair makes me turn my head, and the blurry vision of a tall man with black hair comes into view.

Rocco.

Rocco. Oh no. 

No, no no no. It can't be real. I was probably just dreaming. But why did it feel so real, like a... memory?

I still can't make out his face, and I frantically try to rub my eyes, feeling the hot tears stream down my cheeks. I try to ignore the pain from my shoulder, but I can't and I have to let it hang limp at my side as I try to desperately clear the haze in my brain.

What happened? How could that have been a memory? 

A strong pair of hands cup my face, and I look up, my eyes finding his warm hazel ones.