They gave me a pass to exit the hospital, it was such a bright yellow it hurt my eyes.
My "Dad" drove me home, in silence. He directed me to my room, through the door, through the living room, up the stairs, and into the room on the right. I have to remember that.
He left me in alone in my room, to "give me my space". I was- I'm, I don't know, creative. There was pictures, words, drawings, that covered these tan walls. I glanced at every one, and wondered what my deal was. Was I a writer? Drawer? Photographer?
I hopped on my bed, which is way more comfortable than the hospital bed I had. I looked up at the ceiling, there's post-it's on my ceiling. But only hot pink ones. I left them, and just took it all in.
This is too much to handle.
I get up, and went around my room. I pushed the little ceramics off to the side so I can open my window. A fresh breeze absorbs my senses. I look out, I have a pool, decent. There's nothing much else.
A soft running noise catches my ear. I turn around as my door bursts open. I feel my adrenaline cool as a small, white ball of fluff appears.
Bailey. I bend down to her will and scratch her behind the ears. Who knew I would remember a dog?
Her ears perched toward my door, as if something caught her attention downstairs. She turned away and ran back downstairs. That little thing, she's always distracted.
Bored, I followed her downstairs. I was led to the living room, seeing my "dad" watching tv and eating popcorn.
"Hey!" He straightened his posture in his lazyboy. "Feeling better?"
I shrug. "I feel the same" I look at the television, it was football, my dad's favourite. "Where's my phone?" I say, out of no reason.
"Huh? Oh I have...no clue" he stuffed some more popcorn into his mouth. Does he care?
I leave the living room and enter the kitchen, and see Bailey on her pillow. She's so cute. I grab an apple and decide to go outside. "I'm gonna be in the front!" I yell to "dad" to the other room.
I slip on some converses, that I assume are mine and open the front door. "Okay!" He yells back.
The cool breeze hits me, also a hint of Apple pie lingers the air. I pop-a-squat on the edge of my cement porch and take a bite of my apple.
I hate this. These ominous memories that decide not to make their appearance. I hate it.
And who was the guy in the hospital wearing a tux?
