No Longer Wanted Stories

Silent Love

💙Silent Love💙

JennaPOV.:

I remember everything so clearly. As if it was happening right there and then.

But, in reality, it was just last year.

Jason and I had just left the party, and we had the wonderful idea of driving home. Drunk. In a car. By our selfs.

"Don't worry," He said. "We'll be fine."

We ended in a car crash. The glass cut my throat, the pain was unbelievable, like a hundred daggers stabbing me, over and over and over again.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Jason, his arm in an awkward position, looking at me and saying: "I'm so sorry Jen, I'm so sorry..." While hot tears ran down his pale cheek.

I also said my last words. "I love you," and then, nothing.

The next day, I remember waking up to a beeping heart monitor, and a sobbing Jason and Mum.

I tried to say 'hey', but I suddenly felt a burning sensation on my throat.

I started coughing, and sure enough, they looked at me.

"Get the doctor!" Mum yelled.

Jason did so, running out like a maniac.

"Here, drink this." She passed me a glass of water.

I gulped it down, the pain leaving slowly but surely.

I looked around. I needed a pen and paper.

"Here," Mum passed me a notebook and a pencil.

(What happened? Why can't I speak? Why does Jason have a cast? Where am I? Where's dad?) I wrote down quickly.

"You got in a car crash, you guys were drunk. The glass from the windows cut your throat, you won't be able to talk for a year or so, maybe more. Jason had a broken arm and a dislocated ankle and shoulder. We're in the hospital. And your father's in, well, he fainted when he saw you. You know, the blood, and you almost dying. He's at home making dinner now." She rushed.

"But I'm happy you're alive. I'm so f*cking happy," she crushed me into a hug.

By now tears were falling down both our cheeks.

Someone cleared their throat.

I turned around to see a tall man with sandy hair and grey, kind eyes.

"Dr. Wingston!" Mum blubbered as she wiped away some tears.

"Ah! Mrs. Johnston! And Jenna, you're finally wake." He smiled.

(Hi Doc. How long was I out?) I wrote quickly.

"Almost three weeks now. Good news: you're alive and you might get your voice back!" He smiled.

(And bad news?)

"You won't, well, shouldn't talk for a year, or until you're throat has healed enough to try to rehabilitate it."

(Ohh...) I thought.

"Yes, well, just in case you move, I have a team of doctors everywhere just in case something happens." He smiled.

(Yay?!) I wrote down.

"Yes 'yay'." He chuckled at me.

"Now, let's call your father, why don't we."

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