ENG - Fractured Fates ʰʸᵘⁿˡᶦˣ

8

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Hyunjin POV

As I slowly became conscious, muffled and soft voices reached my ears. They sounded far away and at the same time as if they were right next to me. Slowly, with an effort that was killing me, I tried to open my eyes. My eyelids felt heavy and sluggish, as if they were made of lead. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to open them a tiny crack. My vision was still puffy, but gradually I could make out the outlines around me.
My attempt to sit up failed miserably, my body did not respond to my efforts. My limbs felt heavy and numb, as if they had fallen asleep. Despite the bright light, I could see that I was still lying in the sterile hospital room, with three figures standing in front of my bed.
"I'm his only family, so give me those fucking discharge papers already," I heard a voice that I could clearly identify as Minho. His voice sounded angry and I could imagine him clenching his hands into fists, his eyes sparkling like fire. I felt a twinge in my chest, not only because of the physical pain, but also because of the worry and despair that resonated in his words.

"You're too loud," I croaked, grimacing slightly as the pain in my upper body made itself felt again. All three heads turned in my direction and my best friend immediately came running towards me. "And you're a fucking idiot," he countered, but I could hear relief in his voice. Even though my vision was still a little blurry, I could see the corners of his mouth curl into a smile, which he tried in vain to suppress.
Minho grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly while I felt his hands trembling. "If you worry me like that again, I'll send you to your grave with my own hands, you bastard," he said, sighing with relief. A faint smile flitted across my lips as I turned my tired head in his direction to look at him. "You don't have the balls for that," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
One of the other two people cleared his throat, causing my best friend and I to look at him. "I'm glad you're awake. I'm Doctor Lee, I operated on you," an older man introduced himself. My tired gaze slid past the doctor to the blond man who had been there during the night, then I looked back at the doctor. "I would like to examine you and then discuss the operation," he said and I nodded weakly. I couldn't really fight it anyway.

The doctor stepped closer to my bed and began to examine me. He placed his stethoscope on my chest and listened carefully to my heartbeat, which was beating in my ears like a bird in a cage gone wild. Then he ran his cold fingers over my lungs and checked my reflexes. He said something cryptic that neither Minho nor I understood, probably some medical term, and the blond man who was still in the room noted it all down in the medical file.
I felt his fingers stroking my wounds and I couldn't help but flinch. Every touch of his cold, sterile hands on my open wounds felt like he was drawing on my skin with a red-hot iron. He felt every damn wound individually, sending incredible pain through my body. I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached and tried desperately to stifle my screams of pain. My body was a single point of pain, every fiber, every muscle, every bone.
"Dude, if you keep pressing on those fucking wounds and hurting me on purpose, I'm going to punch you in the face," I growled angrily and slapped his hand away. It was only at that moment that I noticed that the leather cuffs that had previously clasped my wrists were gone. His eyes widened in surprise behind his glasses, but he remained calm and professional. "I'm sorry, but I need to palpate it to rule out any further reactions," he explained to me in a calm voice. "The only reaction you're causing is fucking pain, so don't," I continued to growl irritably, pressing my head into the pillow, stressed and tired at the same time.
My eyes were burning and completely dry, as if I hadn't slept for days. My head was pounding like a hammer and every heartbeat echoed in my ears.

When the doctor had finished his examination, he sank into the chair next to my bed with a soft sigh. His expression was one of concerned seriousness as he began to explain the operation. "We had to stop some internal bleeding and remove your spleen," he said with a serious expression. "You were really lucky that you were brought here in time. It could have..." he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, "...it could have turned out worse."
I couldn't suppress a soft groan and rolled my eyes in annoyance. My voice sounded raspy and disinterested as I replied: "Yes, I know. I've heard that before."
He explained what I could expect over the next few weeks, what I was allowed to do and what I should avoid. But I only listened with half an ear as I found it hard to concentrate with the pain in my body. All I really wanted to do was sleep.
"Can I go now?" I asked the doctor as I sat up with a grimace of pain and tried to ignore my agony. "I'm tired of staying here."
The doctor looked at me with worried eyes and hesitated for a moment before answering. "I understand that you want to go home, but there are risks if you are discharged too soon. Your injuries require continued medical supervision," he said with a serious expression. "You've had a serious operation and your body needs time to recover. You barely survived with twelve puncture wounds, if you go home too soon there is a risk of complications such as infection, bleeding, poor wound healing or, in the worst case, paralysis."

In a voice filled with deep concern, the doctor described various scenarios that could possibly occur if I decided to leave the hospital prematurely. I listened to him, but I wasn't really interested. "I understand what you're trying to tell me," I said, looking around the sterile, cold hospital room, "but I think it sucks here."
The doctor nodded, but his expression remained worried. "I understand how you feel, I really do. But my top priority is to ensure your safety and health." He cleared his throat slightly and continued in a voice tinged with serious urgency, "If you choose to leave the hospital, you need to make sure you take the necessary precautions to avoid complications. You will need instructions on how to properly care for your wounds, take your medications and recognize signs of infection or other problems." His eyes rested on me as he added, "Also, don't move around too much as it could re-open the internal wounds. This could lead to paralysis or bleeding."
At that moment, my best friend, who was sitting on the other side of the bed and still holding my hand tightly, intervened in the conversation. "That's what I'm here for. I'll make sure that idiot doesn't die," he said, giving me an encouraging smile. "Besides," Minho continued, looking at the doctor, "you can't force him to stay. He's conscious, no longer under the influence of anesthesia or medication, and the risks have been explained to him. So he can leave if he wants to."

The doctor sighed softly and nodded in agreement as he adjusted his glasses. "You're right, we can't keep him here against his will. But please bear in mind that premature discharge is associated with risks and that you will be responsible for his care and supervision around the clock." He looked at me with a worried expression and continued: "I just want to make sure that you both understand the implications of this decision."
I felt a lump forming in my throat, a feeling that almost made me choke as I slowly realized what decision I had to make. The doctor was probably right, and to avoid risking my own life, it would be better to stay in hospital. But we simply couldn't afford this shit. Neither Minho nor I together. There was nowhere near enough money from dealing to be able to carry that amount.
Besides, the idea of having to spend another day in this cold, impersonal hospital room really made me sick. The white walls, the smell of disinfectant, the incessant beeping of the monitors, the fake friendliness of the staff - it all made me want to vomit.
But basically, I didn't really care whether I died or not. I didn't have anyone in my life worth living for besides that asshole named Minho anyway. I glanced briefly at Minho, who gave me an encouraging nod and I knew I could count on him.
I just couldn't leave him alone, which is why I wasn't going to die when I left the hospital anyway, even though I knew this spaz could do without me. "Yeah yeah, now let me go," I said in a firm voice as I looked at the old bag again. "I want to get out of here."

The doctor scrutinized me for a moment, his eyes almost piercing me, as if he was trying to look into my soul and find out whether I was really prepared to take this risk. Then he nodded slowly. "Fine," he said in a voice that betrayed disappointment and concern at the same time. "But please remember that you can always return if you're not feeling well."
He got up from his chair with a soft creak, his knees cracking softly as he moved, which elicited a brief grimace from him. He fished a card out of his white coat and handed it to me. "This is my private number. Don't hesitate to call me if you need help."
I took the card, which felt cold and impersonal in my hand, and looked at it skeptically. "Don't worry, you old bag won't see me again," I said, mumbling.
The old man sighed and turned to the blond man. "Felix, please get the discharge papers and instructions ready. Then you can call it a day," he said to the blond man, who nodded and immediately left the room.

I could feel a sense of relief spreading through my chest. I would finally be able to leave this place, which smelled of disinfectant and where the noise of the monitors was deafeningly loud. " And I had to stay here all night for this, unbelievable," Minho growled after the older doctor had also left the room. His eyebrows drew together in a scowl as he cursed the situation. "Those fuckers did this on purpose to make us another fat sum by keeping us here overnight."
With a sigh, I let myself fall back into the pillow, exhausted, and closed my eyes. "We can't change it anyway," I said quietly. "They just wanted to fuck us off anyway," I added and opened my eyes again to look at my roommate. I could understand why Minho was so angry.
He gave an annoyed snort as he rolled his eyes in irritation. "And they definitely did that, especially that other blonde guy," he said with an undertone of annoyance and frustration in his voice.

After a while, the blond man came back to us and gave us all the necessary instructions, the hospital bill and information such as emergency numbers and similar stuff. I was given a whole range of medication to take over the next few days and finally signed the discharge papers.
The tubes were then removed from my arms and I was finally free. I struggled painfully out of bed, helped by Minho, who then gave me a piggyback ride to carry me out of this prison. 

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