Before The Sunrise

void

I am the void.

Before, it was inside me, lurking in a corner of my mind. Now it has consumed me, until I become a dark gray cloud, shadowy mist shrouding away the memories.

The memories are still there. I can feel them, but I let them be.

I don't want to remember.

Echoes of me, waking up alone in a white hospital bed. Crying while the pain chewed up my organs and left me barren, empty. Soothing, but unfamiliar, voices.

And then, the void.

* * *

"I know you're awake."

I open my eyes into the sunlit room. Coach Bradford's right. I was never asleep.

I was never asleep, so I know that I've been alone. Abandoned here.

I glare at him. I don't feel a shred of guilt for how terrible he looks.

I don't feel much of anything right now.

"Sorry, I had to talk with some cops, and some lawyers, and some doctors. They got you under lock and key here." The corner of his mouth lifts a little, out of place on his solemn expression. "But I'm here now."

I look away from him, searching for the void. Where did it go? I was so blissfully blank.

"They told me you were sleeping, but I know better. You just didn't want to talk, didn't you?"

No, I didn't. When I woke up a few hours ago, deep enough in the void to not feel any pain, they sent all these people in here, telling me my dad was dead.

I won't believe it. I tried to tell them that, but the words dried up on the way to my mouth. Eventually, I closed my eyes, and the nurses kicked them out.

"I understand. The good news is that I got my own lawyer. Now everyone who wants to ask questions has to go through me first."

I scoff.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No questions from me."

My nose is itchy, so I reach up to scratch it. I find the motion obstructed.

"Hey, don't mess with those." Bradford catches my hand before I can dislodge the tubes stuck up my nose.

I look at him quizzically.

"The doctors said you're malnourished. That's the first one. The other one's oxygen. You tested negative for everything, but your pulse-ox reading is still low."

Malnourished? How? I look down at my body, trying to see how skinny I look, but I'm covered by blankets. Except for my arms.

My bare arms, littered with self-harm scars.

I look up at Bradford, and he's staring at me with so much behind his eyes, I can barely read it. I can always read his expressions.

I open my mouth to apologize to him, to tell him it's not his fault, to say anything, but a sharp pain pinches in my throat, and I find myself coughing instead.

I look at Coach, panicking. I reach up to my throat, trying to pull the fingers away, but my hand catches nothing but air and a crinkly hospital gown.

"Shhh, it's okay," he says, all traces of mystery vanishing as he returns to his natural state: Dad mode. "You don't have to talk."

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I can't go back to the black nothingness if I'm having a panic attack.

"That's it. Shhhh. Can I touch you?"