Gen V - The thin line between love and hate

Luke

October 1, 2022

I woke up with a heavy sensation pressing against my temples, as if my brain were trying to escape my skull. Each heartbeat was accompanied by a dull thud in my ears, and my eyes burned as if I had stared at a screen for too long. I tried to open them, but the intense light that greeted me forced me to close them immediately, causing a sharp pain. It was the classic feeling of a heavy hangover, the kind that hits you like a truck and leaves you with the bitter taste of alcohol rising in your throat.

I tried to remember what had happened the night before, but my thoughts were fragmented, confused. A puzzle with too many missing pieces. Was I at a party? The last thing I clearly remembered was the sound of Cate's laughter and the dim light of a crowded bar, but everything else was hazy. I forced my eyes open again, this time with more success. I expected to see the familiar walls of my dorm room, maybe one of my best friends teasing me for going overboard the night before.

But this wasn't my room.

There were unfamiliar machines next to me, with monitors emitting intermittent sounds and tubes that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie. The air was cold, permeated with the smell of disinfectant that stung my nostrils. The walls were bare, an aseptic white, without any signs indicating where I was. There weren't even windows. I looked around, trying to gather enough information to orient myself. With each passing second, awareness grew, and with it a rising anxiety that knotted in my stomach.

This was a hospital room. But why? What had happened to me? I tried to remember, but every attempt hit an impenetrable wall of emptiness.

Instinctively, I tried to get up, but something held me back. I looked down, and panic hit me like a cold wave: I was strapped to the bed. Leather straps bound my wrists and ankles, preventing any movement. I tried to free myself, pulling hard against the restraints, but they were tight, solid, and my strength, which usually never let me down, seemed useless against them.

"Hey! Is anyone there?" I shouted, my voice breaking from panic. No response. Just the hum of the machines and the accelerated beat of my heart.

I kept pulling against the restraints, desperately trying to free myself. Thoughts raced through my head: what the hell had happened to me? Why was I in a hospital? And most importantly, why was I tied up? A series of confused images flashed through my mind: Cate, the campus, the crowd at the party, blurred faces I couldn't identify. None of it made sense, nothing explained why I was in this situation.

As I tried to calm down and think clearly, the room door opened and two nurses walked in. They were wearing white coats and masks, and their expressions were calm, as if all this were normal, as if it were perfectly reasonable for a guy to be tied to a hospital bed. I tried to catch their eyes, but they avoided my gaze, focusing instead on the monitors and machines around me.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady but failing. "Why am I tied up? Where am I?"

One of the nurses, a woman with her hair tucked under a cap, approached my side, trying to put a hand on my shoulder, as if a gentle touch could calm the panic consuming me. "Stay calm, everything's fine," she said in a tone meant to be reassuring but which sounded hollow and distant. "You're in good hands."

Those words, instead of calming me, fueled my anger. "In good hands? Are you kidding me?" I yelled, pulling again against the straps. "I'm tied to a damn bed, and no one is telling me what's going on! I demand answers, now!"

The other nurse, a sturdy man with an impassive expression, stepped forward. "Please, try to calm down," he said, his tone firm but not hostile. "It's for your safety. Soon everything will be clearer."