While You Closed Your Eyes

Chapter 5

Beginning Week 5, Week 2 since I woke up, in the hospital has brought my mood into an all-time low. My mom's noticed, my nurses have noticed, my nieces have noticed upon their visits, as have everyone else. Everyone has noticed.

They keep telling me I'm getting stronger and may be able to go home next week or so. I both want to get out of this hellhole and stay, because Peter can't, so why should I receive such a luxury?

"Leah," my mom moans entering the room with my eldest sibling, Marissa, and her two daughters, both under the age of 6.

"What," I gripe. Happiness has not been a beneficiary factor.

"Peter has been showing substantial improvement," Mom says, ignoring my moodiness.

I roll my eyes and snarl. "Unless he wakes up, I never want to hear you say 'improvement' again."

Mom sits in the chair and doesn't reply, looking on to her grandchildren, whom are clutching their mom's legs.

"How are you feeling, Leah?" Marissa asks, breaking the tension. My sister has a soft-set voice, very calm, quiet, and I've only heard her yell once, when Percy, the eldest daughter, broke our deceased grandmother's nice China. That wasn't the best of days.

"As good as a near-dead person can be," I reply.

"Would you knock it off?" Marissa glares. "You aren't nearly dead, so stop griping at everyone like you're the unluckiest person to set foot on the earth."

"Auntie Lee-Lee upset?" My youngest niece, Ava, questions curiously at her mother.

"Hush up, Ava, they talking," Percy calls after her little sister.

With her grammar, I'm a bit surprised she's starting kindergarten this fall. I guess there's time for improvement.

"But I am," I reply, as though the sisters' encounter hadn't gone on.

"You. Aren't. Dead."

"CLOSE ENOUGH!" I shout loud enough to wake the entire hospital.

Marissa says nothing and gives me one last of her looks before ushering her children outside the room, as I'm apparently a menace of society.

"Really, Leah?" Mom asks disapprovingly. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself and get a grip, will you? I'm not sure I'll take you back home if you're going to be acting like this all day."

I roll my eyes as a grand finale.

My mom groans. "Stop acting like such a child."

Before I could respond, she angrily storms out of the room.

This is the first time I've been alone in my room since I woke up, always having my family, doctors, or nurses ushering in, keeping me company, or checking up in me.

I look around, examining my room.

I'm still in the ICU, seeing as my stump is still at the stage of possibly getting infected, but other than that, my elbow is still in a tight brace, which comes off for two separate hours a day, and my wrist was put into a cast yesterday. My ribs are still tender, but fine.

My moment of aloneness is soon over when a nurse comes in with a perky smile on her face.

"What?" I ask curiously. This is the first time I've seen Heather really smile.

"Well, you're doing really well," Heather says. "You're all good to move into the room."

"'The room'?" I question.