I'll See You Later

Chapter 6

Blinding white lights glare at me harshly when I wake up, making me wince. I squeeze my eyes shut instinctively. I can feel my heart banging against my chest, perfectly matching a steady beeping from a machine beside me. I open my eyes for a second time, but close them immediately when the light becomes too much to handle. I saw a heart monitor.

I'm in a hospital, then. 

Fantastic.

I hear a brief exchange of murmurs between two nurses. Half of the words I don't quite catch, and I barely understand the rest of them. Probably fancy medical terminology for "panic attack" and "antidepressant". They've most likely just gotten out of medical school. Showoffs.

Slowly, I open my eyes again. I'm faced with white lights, white walls, a white ceiling, a white-tiled floor, an itchy white blanket, and two uncomfortable-looking blue chairs. Definitely a hospital room.

The two chairs seem depressingly uninviting, as if they're more for decoration than for actual use. The chairs are probably all like, "Salutations, dear friends-of-hospitalized-person. This person isn't going to wake up anytime soon, so you might as well go buy yourself some fries. Don't bother sitting down; it would be kind of awkward for both of us." 

Or maybe it's a test of friendship, like, "Are you sure you want to make yourself uncomfortable just so that there's no chance that said-hospitalized-person will wake up alone? Are you sure it's worth it, hmm?" This makes the chairs even more depressing, because the chairs are cold and empty, so all of the nonexistent friends I've made here failed the test.

I'm contemplating the possible dialogues of talking chairs. Definitely losing my mind.

At first, I think this weird behavior is a side-effect of being unconscious for a while. But then my eyes settle on a steady drip of some clear drug into my bloodstream. 

I really don't like drugs. Not in a good-girl, I-will-never-get-high-and-always-get-perfect-A's kind of way. I promised myself never to get too addicted to anything, or rely on anything. In my entire life, I've only ever relied on one thing: my parents. And then they left me to fend for myself in this cruel world, while they went to a better place. Though I couldn't be happier for them, sometimes it just sucks.

I've always wondered if maybe their deaths in the war wouldn't hurt as much, haunting me every damn night, if I hadn't been as attached to them as I was. Flashbacks pierce my mind, sharp as daggers, as I wish more desperately than I have in a long time that they were with me right now. Encouraging me. Advising me.

Loving me.

Her words have tormented my thoughts ever since she said them. "I'll see you later." I wouldn't have let her go if I realized that "later" meant in my nightmares. 

I'm thinking too much. Stress probably isn't good for patients presumably here because of a panic attack.

With a sigh, I rip the needle feeding the drug to me out of my arm. I don't want to need anything to survive. Least of all, something that can only be found in a hospital. I don't intend on visiting one any time soon.

The irritating heart monitor beeps more aggressively. As the nurses coming rushing over, in their perfectly-ironed uniforms and doll-like makeup, fussing about how, "Ma'am, you should not overwork yourself," and, "Why did you take your [unnecessarily-long drug name] drip out?!",  I bolt out of the bed. A quick shove is all it takes to knock the surprised nurses onto the floor, and then I'm out of there.

Now I can find the answer to a question that has been nagging me since I woke up.

Who the hell took me here?