MAYA, a girl who goes through life with an unwavering smile-around other people that is. While juggling four jobs to support her father and a side hobby of modelling, Maya is rarely at home-to her content. Even through the mental and physical turmoi...
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MY EYES, ONCE peacefully closed, scrunch up to shield themselves from the harsh light streaming through my room's window. My head turns, burying itself in my arm, a desperate attempt to snatch any possible sleep.
Yet, when that effort proves futile, I remain still—eyes shut, aware but unwilling to fully wake.
Suddenly, a wave of dread washes over me, snapping me awake. No alarm; I'm waking up on my own.
Startled, I sit up in bed, intending to rush to whatever shift I'm supposed to be on, prepared to beg for forgiveness. But my thoughts scatter as a bout of dizziness and nausea hit me with full force.
Instinctively, I grab the plastic rail beside my bed to steady myself, realizing something is very strange.
My room doesn't have a window; my father boarded it up because he thought I was sneaking out to go see boys.
My bed doesn't have a plastic railing.
As my surroundings sink in, I feel the scratchy sheets and the crunch of the hospital pillow. I survey the room—it's compact. One window, one chair, and my bed. The jaundiced lighting from the walls gives the space a sickly tint, making it even smaller.
To my left, an IV bag stands with a blue Post-it note attached:
Had to go to work, be back in the morning. — Micah
I offer a faint smile, touched by the caring gesture.
I presume Micah is the one who plugged in my phone and placed it nearby. The time reads 6:14; the club must have just closed.
As if on cue, the door in front of my bed opens, revealing the man in question. "Good, you're awake."
"Yeah," I reply, though my voice sounds parched and scratchy. "Why am I here?"
He moves forward to pour me a glass of water before answering, "After closing, I found you unconscious in the changing rooms. You've been in and out since yesterday morning."
My eyes widen. "I've been in the hospital for two days?!" Hospital bills aren't cheap, and two days could rack up quite a cost, plus I haven't called in to any of my jobs.
Handing me the glass, he nods. "Yeah, I tried calling your dad, but he didn't answer."
"Okay. I need to leave, now." I swing my legs over the bed's edge, yet the action compels me to grasp the rail once more, battling the onslaught of nausea. My eyes close involuntarily, and I take deep breaths to regain composure.
