I am not the chosen one, that's my best friend. Or...was my best friend.
Who is Versailles? Not really anyone important, a daughter of criminals and a random student of the most prestigious high school in England is all she was. That was until she s...
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𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖍
The first warmth I'd felt since waking up was Chris's thumb swiping against my cheek.
I didn't even know I'd been crying till she did that. "Shh, it's okay I told the police to leave," She told me whilst still rubbing my cheek, "They're not coming back, I promise."
My lips trembled regardless, they were dry and cracked from not being used for so long. For the last week that I'd been awake in the hospital I had, had wires attached to me and bolts in places metal wasn't meant to be. My legs were perched up and my arms spread like an eagle, a machine was shoved down my throat, and was practically breathing for me because two of my ribs had punctured one of my lungs during the impact.
I'd broken everything that could be broken.
No one thought I was going to be able to walk again but I was still shocked that I woke up at all. As soon as the machine working as my lungs was out of my mouth there were police in the room. They came bright and early at six in the morning before I could have my morning liquid food they were in here with notepads and disbelief in their eyes.
They quizzed my recount and although I tried my hardest to convince them of my story I could see the way they all looked when they thought I couldn't see them. When they finally left there were only three lines on the notepad they brought, I couldn't read the other two bullet points but the third was clear as day.
Brain damage.
Chris who'd been violently shoved out of the room was then allowed to come back where she retook her seat beside my bed. When I'd woken up she was at school but when she returned it'd become pretty clear that she was living with me the whole time I was in here. The hospital staff had allowed her to stay nights as long as she caused no trouble and stayed only in my room.
And stay only in my room she did.
She did her homework here, ate here, and would only leave to shower at school before coming straight back. When she slept she was on the uncomfortable hospital loveseat and hunched over my broken body with her fist clutching me the whole time. When she was awake she was making sure I ate at the correct times and giving me my pain medication on the hour it was meant to be taken. I would catch her sad eyes staring at my drilled legs and she would often excuse herself to step out of my room where she thought I couldn't hear her cry.
We didn't speak about what happened, she looked almost as traumatized as I was and didn't bring it up either. She would read me her notes that I'd missed in class and would play music for me when the silence in the room got too overwhelming. The only thing that had broken our little silent routine was this morning when she'd left for school and a nurse had come in to turn the TV on so I didn't get bored.
It was the news and my name was all over the headlines. My parent's history, my academic performance, and every other invasive little thing about me that even I didn't know. There before my very eyes was the world spinning a narrative about me, a story so twisted that I was not surprised it was breaking news.
