The Emptiness She Holds

Hospitals suck

Chapter 12: Hospitals Suck

"Wake the hell up!"

I jolted awake, shaken by the booming voice tearing through the silence.

I winced, moving slowly—too scared to reopen the freshly sewn wounds from last night.

The door burst open, sending a rush of dust and mold my way.

My lungs flared immediately, triggering a violent coughing fit.

"Shut the fuck up!" he barked, stomping toward me and yanking my matted hair, dragging me off the makeshift bed of stacked books. I toppled onto the dirt-stained floor.

A scream—vulture-like—ripped from my throat.

"I told you I want my breakfast made at 6 o'clock sharp. It's 6:05!"

Groaning, I shakily got to my feet and bowed. "Sorry, I'll make it right away." My groggy voice cracked.

He grabbed my neck, shoved me out of the attic, then pushed me down the stairs. Pain exploded through me as I braced for impact and crashed onto the wooden floor. Splinters pierced my skin.

He stomped back down the hall toward his room.

I looked down to see my stomach wound reopened, blood pouring out.

Present day.

My eyes snapped open. The room was all white—blinding.

Hospital tools lined the counters, walls decorated with pictures of organs and smiling children.

A heart monitor beeped steadily beside me, an IV needle embedded in my wrist.

My body stiffened as memories flooded back—the torture, the scars, the endless haunting flashbacks.

I looked down and saw I was in a hospital gown, knee-length.

Lifting the front, relief washed over me—my undergarments remained on, and the makeup covering my scars hadn't worn off.

My gaze drifted until it landed on the clock.

12:47.

"Our mission starts at midnight," Ryan's voice echoed in my mind.

Fuck.

I threw the sheets off and inspected the injury. Bandaged, but manageable.

I stood slowly, wary of dizziness.

My phone lay atop a pile of clothes on the desk. I walked over and dialed Ryan.

While the phone rang, I grabbed my clothes and rushed to the bathroom.

I slipped off the gown and pulled on a black T-shirt with matching black denim shorts—and hospital slippers.

The call went to voicemail.

"Ryan, you motherfucker, answer," I muttered, stepping out anxiously.

I hit call again.

The door was one exit—but led to a hallway where I'd surely get caught.

Scanning the room, my eyes landed on the window.

Grunting in frustration, I dashed to it and opened it wide. Hopefully, it wasn't too high...

I braced myself and looked down.

Oh my—wait, I'm on the first floor.

Drama queen, my subconscious sneered.