A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(8) Lean On

you ever appalled at how incredibly horrible your writing can be at times? yeah. pre-editing, this chapter was one of those instances. but now it's all rewritten and polished for your enjoyment! :)

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( MITCH )

My ears are ringing and my eyesight is deciding it doesn't exactly want to cooperate right now. The room is blurry as I groggily move my head, lifting a hand up to rub my eyes but realizing I can't. There's a little tug and a sharp pain that goes through my hand, and I wince quietly.

"Hey, Mitchy, good morning," a woman's voice says softly to my left, and I turn my head to look at her; my mom, who I don't quite remember, is standing beside me, looking down at me with a smile. Serenity immediately courses through my veins; involuntarily, I take in a deep breath, exhale, and then return the smile.

Mom sighs, then lowers the bedrail and sits down on the edge of the bed. She gently runs her hand up and down my arm, her fingers catching on all the Band-Aids, intently matching my gaze. "How do you feel today, honey? You look better than you did last night."

Last night? What was last night? I don't really remember much of what's been happening since I ended up in the hospital—let alone what was going on last night. That's about the only thing I really know: that I've been in, and will be in, the hospital for a little while. I can't recall how I got here in the first place, because, every time I try to, the flashbacks come—and they usually end in my screaming and thrashing, hands holding me down, and then an ice cold liquid entering my bloodstream and pulling me under. Well, most of the time, at least.

Sometimes I'll feel a hand slip into mine, warm and calloused, and then a familiar voice saying my name, telling me to calm down and that everything's going to be okay. I can't pinpoint exactly who the voice belongs to, or even really what it's saying half the time; all I know is That Voice. And it saves me from getting drugged. So.

"Mitch? Can you hear me, sweetie? Are you with me?" My mom is speaking, and I have to blink to register her face again, her smile now replaced with worry lines. Her hand has stopped moving on my arm.

I take in another deep breath, nodding my head and trying not to wince from the pain that reverberates through my skull. I can't really recall what she had asked me before I zoned out—which I think I should be accustomed to, since Mom seems to be.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asks again. "On a scale of one to five, one being the worst and five being the best," she adds with a small smile—though, even in my messed-up state of mind, I can tell it's forced. And that she's probably repeated that last statement countless times.

I consider her question for a moment, trying to not let it slip from my mind as quickly as it had when she first asked it. I slowly lift my right hand,—carefully, as to not hurt it again—and I hold up four fingers.

Mom's face lights up, and I can see her eyes fill with water. "Mitch, really? A four?" She leans down to kiss my forehead. "I love you so much, honey. I'm gonna go see if I can find Dr. Mowry, okay?" I nod slowly before watching her leave—backwards out of the room, keeping her gaze on me as she slowly closes the door. I half-expect her to be watching me through the window, too, but I'm too drained to see for myself.

I actually don't feel like absolute shit, which is why I rated this morning as a four. Of course, I just woke up and I really have no depth perception or hand-eye coordination or clear eyesight, but I'm breathing okay and I don't feel like my chest is being ripped open or my entire body is on fire. Which is a start because, if I remember correctly, these last few days (or times I've woken up? I don't even know) it's been pretty miserable.