to be determined [A FORMER WATTPAD FEATURED STORY]

ONE

The walls are white. Not an offset or eggshell. A snow white. A white that represents a certain essence of purity. The aroma of the room is . . . clean, unflawed.

"Where am I?" I ask.

"MLK Memorial Hospital."

Hospital.

I want to think, but all I'm able to think is, how did I end up here?

A woman who wears a coat as white as the walls comes into the room. She's holding a clipboard, rapidly flipping through papers. Her red hair looks of rich red velvet cake; it is pulled back into a tightly wounded braid. Her eyes are wide and green, full of life.

Her name tag reads: Dr. Francesca Letterman.

"Jane Doe. Had a subarachnoid hemorrhage around one thirty this afternoon. We have located the aneurysm and plan on clipping it in order to prevent the bulge from bursting. Her surgery will be at relatively 4 o'clock," she says to the man standing beside her.

The man nods in response.

"Miss, I'm going to need you to try and tell me your name," the woman says.

"How did I get here?"

"Miss, I really need you to try-"

"Why am I here?" I ask. My vision blurs; everything surrounding me is a series of unclear images. My hands are trembling, and I can't manage to conjure up a name. I can't manage to conjure up anything. It's like my brain is . . . lost.

"Can you please try and tell me what your name is?"

I'm at a loss for words as my body tenses up. My breaths intensify. I feel curls pool underneath my neck as my hands cling to the bed sheets.

I can't think.

What is my name?

"I don't . . ." I whisper. "I can't."

I think really hard, so hard that my brain begins to throb, so hard that I'm nearly positive every ounce of my head is on the verge of exploding.

Then suddenly, there is fear. No clarity, just the petrifying fear of being alone here.

"Why can't I remember?" I cry out. "Help me, please."

"We'll try our best," she says, managing to throw me a small smile before grasping my hand. "We're going to try our best to help you."

My breathing settles as I look up at the white ceiling.

Everything is white, but this place is not one of purity.

It's one filled to the brim with tortuous thoughts and unhealthy people.