Idiosyncratic || Peter Parker ||

||22||

Isabelle's eyes snap open, jolting her back to the land of the living from her unconscious daze. A mellow stale taste lingers in her mouth and she found it difficult to move after being unconscious for the most part of three days. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the room and her surroundings. Machines hummed and whirred around her, bright LED lights assaulted her fragile gaze. 

Her mind flashed to the day of the track tournament, how much pain she was in, the vomit, the blood, the exhaustion. Now she felt... nothing... no pain, almost as if she had been stripped of any feeling of pain at all. It felt alien to wake up and not feel pain, not that she missed it, because she certainly did not. Sitting up slowly, she could feel her bones shake and groan at the movement, her vision was blurry but that had only been because of the bright lights and she had no glasses. 

Searching blindly through the sheets of the large bed she was in and the bedside tables she finally managed to grip onto the familiar feeling frames of her glasses. Once on her face, she could see clearer the monitors and machines that boxed her in around the bed. Many of the monitors displayed familiar information, pictures and others displayed vitals and notes. 

"Glad you are awake, Isabelle." Friday's voice filled the room, startling the teenage girl. "Shit!" She jumped, holding her hand to her heart, immediately withdrawing her hand as her fingers graze a cool metal contraption embedded into her sternum. "What the hell?..." she muttered, her face contorting into confusion as her voice rasped dryly. Getting a tight grip on it and trying to pull it out only for pain to ensue, making her retract her fingers.  "Would you like me to notify Tony of your awakening?" 

Isabelle stared down at her chest, eyeing the contraption in curiosity - what it could be, why she needed it, what did it do - reverting her attention back into the room to answer Friday's question, except, something on the monitors had caught her eye. She leaned forward in the bed to get a better look at what was displayed. A simple report and statistics flickered on the side of the screen, she read the few sentences over and over. 

Patient I.D: 453 - Isabelle, Victoria, Jones.

Condition: Organ failure (Liver, Kidneys, Heart), blood loss, Malnutrition, Vitamin Deficiency.

Survival Rate:  18%

Surgical Success Rate: 5 %

Procedure Complete: Completed. Successful.

 "U-uh... No -- that won't be necessary." She squeaked out, not taking her eyes off of the monitors, particularly the ones displaying footage of what appeared to be her during surgery. There was no sound of the sorts just several doctors calmly examining her opened chest, the sight made her sick nonetheless even if it was her own chest they were shovelling black goo from. 

What the hell happened? 

That very question echoed in the depths of Isabelle's mind. She was sure whatever was in her chest -- whatever it was that made her feel better was Tony's doing. Tugging the blankets off of her and pulling numerous wires and needles from her skin, she finally noticed how exposed she was. The heart monitor flatlined in the background from Isabelle disconnecting it, but it described how she felt upon how little she was dressed. 

A simple wrap around her chest and a pair of skin tight black shorts clung to her legs. She understood why she was dressed the way she was, it would have been easier for the surgery to have been scantily clad in nothing but those two items of clothing, still it made her feel exposed nonetheless. 

She drew in a deep breath before exhaling as her legs dangled over the edge of the bed, wiggling her toes before pressing her bare feet to the cold floors. The instantaneous touch of cold floors rippled a shiver through her body for just a moment before she stands, teetering on her feet with her arms out to help her balance.