Submerge

N U M B

TW: Blood

AN: pls note that  i have no knowledge of how any of these tests are made or the policies of the US hospitals 

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When I woke up, everything was too bright.

The harsh, sterile lights above me made my head throb, and I squinted, trying to make sense of where I was. It took a moment for the pieces to fall into place—the hospital bed, the steady beep of the machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic.

I was alive.

But I wished I wasn't.

The world had become muted.

I sat there, staring at nothing. 

The walls of the hospital room were sterile, a dull white that blended into the background. 

I could hear the faint sounds of the machines—beeping, ticking—but they felt far away, as if they were part of a different world. 

One I didn't belong to anymore.

I was numb.

I didn't feel the ache in my body, though I knew it was there. I didn't feel the tightness of the bandages wrapped around my arms, chest, and legs. I didn't feel the burn in my throat, dry and raw from everything I couldn't say.

There were voices. 

People talking, asking questions, their words blurring together into an incoherent hum. 

Doctors, nurses, maybe even a police officer. 

They were there, hovering around me, trying to pull me out of the fog that had swallowed me whole. But I wasn't there with them. Not really.

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

I just sat there.

They kept asking me things, but I couldn't focus on what they were saying. I could see their mouths moving, their eyes filled with concern, but I didn't hear them. I didn't want to hear them.

It was too loud inside my own head.

The memories replayed themselves over and over again, like some cruel movie reel that I couldn't shut off. The alley. The punches. 

The kicks. 

The sound of their voices, taunting, cruel. 

Marco's name hanging in the air like a curse.

And then that man... what he did to me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the images. It didn't stop the feeling of his hands, the taste of blood in my mouth, the way the ground felt so cold and hard beneath me.

I couldn't speak. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't.

There was nothing left to say.

A police officer came in at some point, his voice low and kind, but I still didn't react. 

He asked me questions—about the alley, about who had hurt me. But I couldn't give him the answers he wanted. I couldn't give anyone anything.

They didn't understand. How could they?

I wasn't here anymore.

The numbness was safer. 

It was quiet.