Prologue.
"Now you see how my heart felt." — Qadir N. Bukhara
May 24th, 2018
Baton Rouge Hospital
As she lay there quietly, keeping her eyes closed, and matching her breaths to the beeping of the machines that surrounded the bed, the only indications of her heartbeat being her existence; Citrus could not help but to sigh. Everything around her including her was causing her to grow sad and low-spirited.
Along with that came the constant aching of her entire body, she had been in pain for weeks. Now she was extremely drained and it all showed. It showed in her demeanor, her rapid weight loss, and her skin. The once deepened shade of sard that it had always resembled was no more. She looked just as bad as she felt.
She was alive but she was lifeless.
The stagnant smell of the hospital room wasn't making it much better for her either. It was causing a migraine to uprise and making her irritated. She wanted to call for a nurse, a security guard, hell even the janitor but she knew that it wouldn't be of much help. Besides her complaints couldn't even be made known due to her jaw being wired shut. So instead her eyes flickered around the room as she took in it's characteristics for what felt like the millionth time.
It was set up nicely, there was a bed, a few windows , a private bathroom, a TV, a bedside cupboard and an overway for eating. It had nice soft lighting, and the cool green that resided on the walls allowed the patients to feel at home and content. It kind of resembled an upscale motel. Yet, despite how nice it came off, being in the same room for weeks was agonizing. It was not home and it was not where Citrus wanted to be, though she had no other choice but to be.
"Citrus Bukhara?" The nurse peeked her head into the door, startling Citrus and causing her to shiver at the sound of that last name, "Oh I apologize, I didn't mean to scare you," She reassured before making her way into the room.
She was an older white woman on the heftier side. Her hair was extremely thick and sandy brown. It was pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head. She was clearly white, and there was no taking away from that. Her skin was so pale and light, it resembled a fresh sheet of College ruled paper. Unlike an older black woman, she had cracked. She was in her late forties but looked around sixty-one. Though there was something about her eyes that made Citrus question if she was more than white. They were a deep brown, and extremely rift. So rift that they pulled back towards the ends and were almost touching her eyebrows.
Citrus grabbed for the whiteboard on the overway, and the marker. She needed to get this off of her chest somehow. The room grew silent as she wrote away, she was moving so fast that the nurse wasn't able to keep up with her movements. So she just looked elsewhere and fumbled with her fingers until she felt a tap on her leg. Looking up, she saw Citrus holding the board out for her.
"Oh for me?" She pointed at the board before taking it from Citrus's grasp.
"Are you mixed or is your bun simply too tight? Not trying to be rude or anything of that sort. I just couldn't help but to notice the ch*nk look to your eyes."
Citrus watched as the woman's eyes raked over the board and her lips twitched slightly as she read each word to herself. The room remained silent while she was reading, but once she finished the petite cackle that left her mouth took Citrus by surprise. Considering most people normally grew offended whenever she would ask them questions.
