Brooklyn - Taylor Swift

Part 45

The sterile hospital room felt alien, the sanitised whiteness clashing with the vivid memories of what life with Cora seemed like just moments ago. One second, I was walking up the dirt path to the Lake House, or following the yellow brick road as Cora so elegantly put it, and the next, I felt like I was being run over and then reversed over by a herd of elephants. My mind struggled to reconcile the fantastical scenes with the clinical reality of the hospital bed. It was as if I had stepped out of one dimension and into another, and the transition left me disoriented.

I blinked, trying to clear the lingering mist of the dream. The lake, the peacefulness, Cora—they felt like remnants of a fading mirage. The more I tried to grasp those elusive threads, the quicker they slipped through my mental fingers.

"Is this real?" I mumbled, more to myself than to the nurse who continued to monitor the machines around me. The question hung in the air, its weight pressing on my chest.

The nurse, with a compassionate smile on her face, seemed to sense my confusion. "You're in the recovery room, Andy. The surgery went well, but you're going to feel disoriented for a bit. It's normal," she assured, making me hum softly.

Normal.

The word echoed in my mind, but nothing felt normal. I glanced around, my gaze landing on the medical equipment, the sterile surfaces, the telltale signs of a hospital. It was all so different from the vibrant landscapes of Cora's world, where the laws of physics seemed optional and the boundaries of reality blurred.

I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them again, I would find myself back in the dream, where Cora was, standing by the lake, laughing over something stupid the twins did. But the sterile scent of the hospital, the rhythmic beeping of machines, persisted when I dared to look again.

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. The dream was fading, slipping away like sand through my fingers. Was Cora just a figment of my drug-induced imagination? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a persistent ache that rivalled the physical pain.

"T-Taylor," I rasped again, the urgency in my voice more pronounced. The nurse, sensing my distress, hastened her movements. She checked the IV and adjusted the monitors, all the while offering reassurances that felt as distant as the dream I was desperately trying to hold onto.

The pain, however, was stubbornly real. It anchored me to the present, a reminder that while Cora and her world might have been a fleeting fantasy, the battle against cancer was a stark and daunting reality. At that moment, all I wanted was Taylor—the familiar, the tangible, the anchor in this sea of uncertainty.

"No narcotics, nothing stronger than a paracetamol or ibuprofen," I grumble as I watch her checking things, making her pause as she turns to me with a soft smile. "Your Grandfather already told us. We recommend pain medications that you could be weened off before leaving, but he was adamant that you wouldn't want any," she explained, making me move to nod, only to stop when pain seared through my whole body. "Good," I settle for mumbling.

"Taylor?" I ask again when the nurse moves to leave, earning a smile and a nod before she vanishes, leaving me alone with my thoughts of Cora.

The door swung open with a frantic urgency, and Taylor rushed in, eyes wide with worry. "Andrew," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and relief.

I turned my head, and our eyes locked, and the pain suddenly vanished. The world, for a heartbeat, seemed to stand still. In that instant, everything else faded into the background—the sterile hospital room, the lingering doubts about the reality of the dream. There was only Taylor rushing toward me like a lifeline.

"Taylor," I managed to whisper, the scratchiness of my voice a harsh contrast to the softness of her name. She reached my bedside in seconds, and I saw the flood of emotions in her eyes—a cascade of worry, love, and a profound relief that seemed to release the tension from her shoulders.