The last four years. (A Nick Jonas Love story) ♥

Three - Answers

•Sara•

I wake up and look to the side of me, my parents are sitting on the long couch by the window, their hands clasped together. My mom's head on my dad's shoulder. I smile at the love between them. I wipe my eyes and look around the room again. It's so weird, these hospital rooms look nothing like the last time I was here. They're totally different. There's different wallpaper, and the chairs are sleeker, more modern. This entire room is modern. Maybe they put me in a special room or something.

I hear the couch shift and look over to see my dad smiling at me, he nudges my mom and she wakes also. 

"Well hello gorgeous!" My mom says, getting up and taking one of the chairs next to my bed. "How are you feeling?" She takes my hand as my dad takes the other chair. 

I smile, "I feel fine. A little groggy, like I can't seem to wake up fully, but fine." 

My dad pats my knee, "Honey, that's just the medication the doctors are having you take, to help with the pain." 

I nod, "Okay." They look at me, and I crook my head. It's time to get some questions answered. 

I sit up straighter and look my mom in the eyes, and then my dad. Praying that they see how serious I am, and won't just brush it off, telling me to get more sleep or something. I need to know what's going on. 

"I'm confused. I'm so confused as to why I'm even here in the first place. My leg is in a freaking cast, I have this huge headache, my stomach hurts, I can't see properly, and on top of it all nothing really hurts because of all the meds they're making me take. Do you know what this feels like? I feel like a huge elephant is on my body, it's like a ghost of the pain that's struggling to get through. It feels horrible, and I don't even know what happened to me! Please, just please tell me how I got hurt." I finish my rant and look at them expectantly. 

They look at each other, having a silent conversation. My mom nods her head and turns to me. "Honey, before we tell you anything you need to promise us something, okay?" 

I nod wearily, not sure as to what I would have to promise. This should be simple. I probably just fell and hit my head really hard or something, and the after-coma amnesia is fogging up my memory. 

"I need you to promise that you'll hear us out, alright? The things were about to tell you, honey, they're going to seem crazy. Absolutely ridiculous, but just know that we are not lying to you. At all. We would never lie to you." She's looking at me with a worried expression on her face. 

My eyes are wide, too wide, by the time she finishes and I'm honestly scared. I don't know what to think now. 

My dad sits up and brushes my hair out of my eyes, "First though, we need you to tell us everything that you remember, okay? Be specific." 

I look down at my hands, fiddling with my fingers. "I'll tell you everything that I told the doctor. We live in South Dakota, I'm fifteen years old, I'm going to be starting High School soon, or maybe I've already started. I don't know." I lay back on the pillow, looking at the ceiling, and continue. "And in addition to that, my best friend is Chris, we have a dog named Hanna. I've never had a boyfriend because I'm socially awkward," I say for a little comic relief in this situation, and I hear them chuckle. I smile. "Everything else is just left to the basics. I mean," I look at them. "What aren't you guys telling me? Your turn." I look to them. 

My mom leans back on the chair. Her short, brown hair unruly around her face. 

"The doctor said you had a case of simple, after-coma amnesia. He didn't know at the time, honey, that it was something much more. You don't have that, you have amnesia. Plain and simple. Sweetheart I'm just going to rip the bandage off, okay? You lost four years of your life, baby girl." She take both of my hands, as my eyes get impossibly wider. "It's going to be okay though, he said you have an eighty percent chance of getting it back within the next few weeks! The next few weeks, sweetie, and that's huge! There is hope, and you don't have to be scared." She's rambling. My own mother is rambling, and she's the strongest person I know. She rambles, and tends to go on and on when she's scared. Like now. I don't notice the tears running down my cheeks until I feel the wetness. My dad pulls me into his chest gently, whispering comforting words in my ear.