There's One Thing I Like About Him

Chapter 22

Ethan

My eyes fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights above blinding me as I blinked against the brightness. I tried to move, but my body felt heavy, weighed down felt like years of stillness. Every muscle felt foreign, stiff, and unresponsive, as if they had forgotten how to function. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the steady beep of machines filled the room, reminding me that I wasn't in control—I was trapped in my own body.

I forced my head to turn slightly, taking in my surroundings: a plain hospital room, the walls a sterile white that only amplified the sense of isolation. Tubes snaked out of my arms, and wires connected me to machines that hummed and beeped rhythmically, monitoring my every breath. I tried to speak, but my throat was parched, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper that even I could barely hear.

Panic clawed at my chest as I attempted to sit up, but my body barely responded. It was as if I was moving through quicksand, every small effort exhausting. My mind raced to piece together what had happened, but all I could grasp were fragments—headlights, the screech of tires, a sudden impact—and then darkness. How long had I been here? Days? Weeks? Years?

I shifted my gaze to my hands, trembling and thin, veins visible under pale skin. They didn't look like mine, more like someone else's frail limbs attached to my body. My heart rate quickened, and the monitor beside me beeped faster, the sound echoing my rising anxiety.

A nurse rushed into the room, alerted by the change in my vitals. She moved with a practiced calm, her face a blend of relief and professionalism as she adjusted the IV drip.

"Easy there," she said gently, her voice soft but firm. "You've been through a lot, Mr. Alvarez. Just try to relax. You're safe now."

"M-Mr. Alvarez?" I repeated, my voice thin and shaky, barely a whisper. The name felt foreign, like it didn't belong to me. It echoed in my mind, stirring up confusion that made my already scrambled thoughts feel even more fractured. Had she made a mistake? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?

The nurse looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and concern, as if she could see the storm of questions brewing behind my eyes. "Yes, Mr. Ethan Alvarez. You were in a serious accident and have been in a coma. But you're awake now, and that's a good start."

"W-what are you talking about?" I croaked, struggling to make sense of the nurse's words. My mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, and none of it was fitting together. Ethan Alvarez. A coma. An accident. It all sounded like something that had happened to someone else, not me. I wasn't even sure who I was anymore.

Before the nurse could respond, a loud bang echoed through the room, jolting me from my daze. My head snapped toward the source of the noise, the sudden movement sending a sharp pain shooting down my neck. The door to my room had swung open, and standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman, her face pale and stricken, a metal tray clattering on the floor beside her. She stared at me, wide-eyed and breathless, as if she had just seen a ghost.

Who is she? I wondered; my gaze locked on her trembling figure. She looked familiar in a way that tugged at something deep inside me, but I couldn't place her. Lines of worry etched her face, her dark hair streaked with gray and pulled back in a haphazard bun. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears, were fixed on me with a look of shock and desperate relief that made my chest tighten.

The nurse turned toward the woman, her expression shifting from professional calm to gentle concern. "Mrs. Alvarez, please, take a moment. He's only just woken up."

Mrs. Alvarez. The name echoed in my mind, stirring a distant, disconnected familiarity, but I couldn't grasp it fully. I looked at her again, searching for a flicker of recognition, but it was like staring at a stranger's reflection. Was she, my mother? The idea felt foreign, yet something in her gaze spoke of a bond I couldn't remember.