Echoes of Love

Hello???

Louis' POV:

My eyes slowly flicker open, my eyelids feeling heavy as if they're weighed down by bricks. Once my vision adjusts, I glance around, trying to make sense of where I am. But nothing is familiar—the sterile white lights above me, the faint beeping in the background, and the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. I blink, confused and disoriented. Where am I? The thought echoes in my mind, but I can't grasp an answer.

Suddenly, a sharp ringing starts in my ears, growing louder and louder until it's unbearable. I wince and bring my trembling hands to the sides of my head, pressing against my ears, desperate to drown out the piercing noise. It's no use. The sound isn't coming from the outside. It's inside me—deafening, overwhelming.

My heart races, pounding in my chest as panic rises. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the noise away, trying to find a moment of calm. But it's there—persistent, relentless.

Then, it all comes flooding back. The accident.

My breath catches in my throat as fragmented images hit me like waves: the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, the way my body lurched forward. I remember the moment everything went black, the feeling of weightlessness, and then...nothing.

Now, all these people are around me. Their faces blur as they hover over me, talking, shouting, but their words are muffled, like I'm underwater. I don't know what they're saying, and I can't seem to focus on any one of them. My body tenses. Fear coils inside me, tightening its grip.

Why are they staring? Why are they filming me?

The realization dawns on me with a cold dread: I'm the center of attention, and I don't want to be. All eyes are on me, the cameras in their hands capturing my every movement, my every wince, my vulnerability on display for the world to see. My chest tightens with anxiety. I want to scream, to shout at them to leave me alone, but my throat is dry, and the words refuse to come.

I just want to go home. I just want to pretend this day never happened.

Suddenly, I feel something sharp jab into my arm—a brief sting. I glance down, and though my vision is still blurred, I can make out the paramedics moving around me, their hands busy with equipment. One of them must have put a line into my arm. I try to focus on their faces, but everything is spinning, like I'm on a carousel going too fast.

There's something over my face. I can feel the cool air being forced into my lungs—probably an oxygen mask. I instinctively reach up to pull it off, desperate for control, but before I can, someone's hands gently but firmly stop me. I want to fight them off, but my body isn't responding the way I want it to.

My mind swims, disjointed thoughts racing in every direction. I feel myself being lifted—onto a stretcher, maybe? The sensation of being moved makes my stomach churn, but I don't have the strength to protest.

The edges of my vision grow darker. The ringing in my ears fades, replaced by an eerie quiet. My body feels weightless again, as if I'm floating, and just as quickly as it started, I'm gone—pulled back into the comforting void of unconsciousness.