Burning Sensation

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ғɪᴠᴇ

I blink my eyes open, and a harsh brightness makes me squint, almost closing them back. The beeping of machines and the soft whoosh of ventilators fill my ears, a cacophony that's both jarring and strangely familiar.

I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over me, forcing me back onto the pillow. As my gaze wanders, I notice the tube plugged to my nose, the sterile smell of the hospital, a scent that seems familiar yet out of place. It's a smell that screams "sickness" and "vulnerability," and I don't like it one bit. At all.

Memories start to flood back, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. I remember the pain of Isabella's betrayal, the way she stabbed me in the back and left me reeling. The confrontation with my father. I recall the rush of winning the deal, the thrill of my success and validation. But then, she sent back the divorce papers, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not completely. I wanted to call her, to tell her that the divorce wasn't happening, that I still loved her. I remember looking down to call her again, the panic that she was done with me, my fingers hovering over her number...

And then...the accident. A flash of memory, a screech of tires, the crunch of metal. Everything going dark.

It happens yesterday so why does it feel like ages ago? I look down at my hands, and they're covered in thin, pale skin that seems foreign to me. A thin blanket covers my body, and I can feel the stiffness in my limbs. My gaze drifts to the hospital gown I'm wearing, the pale blue fabric a stark contrast to the tailored suits I'm used to. I feel like a different person, weak and helpless.

A gentle voice breaks the silence. "Welcome back, Mr Valerio Vinci. My name is Dr. Andrew. You've been with us for a while."

My eyes snap to the doctor, confusion etched on my face. as I pull the tube off my nose.

"What do you mean? I was just...I don't know, I was just driving, and then the accident...what happened?" I try to recall the events leading up to this moment, but my memories feel distant and foggy, like they're shrouded in a thick mist.

Dr. Andrew's expression is sympathetic. "You've been in a coma for eight months. You've made remarkable progress, but there's still a lot of healing to be done."

Eight months? That's impossible. I feel like I'd just closed my eyes, not...not months. The doctor's words hang in the air, and my mind struggles to comprehend the loss of time, the life I'd missed.

I look around the hospital room again, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, and the doctor's gentle face. Everything seems different, yet somehow, it all feels like it was just yesterday. The fluorescent lights overhead seem too bright, the shadows on the walls too dark. I feel disoriented, like I'm stuck in a never-ending loop of confusion and uncertainty.

"Eight months?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. "What about my life? What about work? What about..." I trail off, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what I've missed. The doctor's expression is calm, but I can sense a hint of empathy behind his eyes.