The Struggle Is Real

♤twenty one: mac♤

♤twenty one : mac♤

hey guys, so ik it's been a little while since i've updated, so like you may want to read the last few chappies again? k? k. im going on a school trip to chicago and there's a 6 hour busride and im gonna be stuck with a bunch of annoying girls for that long. (well, i am a girl, but i don't say "awh mah gowdddd heh isa like sooo hawt" like every five seconds and crap.) so i will update because there's wifi on the bus yayyyy! okay, enough about my pathetic life---here's chapter 21--(21's my fav # just fyi)

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"Uhm, are you dead?" I asked cautiously, poking and prodding at the cold body on the hospital tile. "God, I killed her....Awhh shoot. What am I gonna say when I finally get home? Hey family, just woke up from unconsciousness land, and then I killed someone from shock." I murmured under my breath. How long had I been out? Probably just a couple of hours, I assumed. Then why was that lady so surprised to see me? It probably wasn't me, I assured myself. Who else would she have been talking to then? I looked around, observing my surroundings. The walls were grey, the floor tiled. A large bed-like-thing sat in the dead center of the room; tubes and wires leading out from the bed to other machines and into holes in the walls. I gazed back into the mirror and realized that I could have never been a model. Laughing, I sat down on the bed, trying to calm my many nerves. I peered into the suspicious mirror and realized that my observations had once again proved me right. Based on the glare and positioning of the glass, its angle also revealed that it was a double-sided window, one a mirror, the other a window. They could see in, but I could not see out. I could only see my reflection. They were windows you would see in an interrogation scene in a hardcore cop movie. I once again checked myself over for any major damage. Blood still covered me, so I must not have been out for more than a few hours. Why was that woman so surprised then? And if someone can see in, why aren't they helping me?This was all too much to take in: I was freaking out. Running around the room in circles, I started screaming and banging on the windows. "Let me out! Now!!" I screamed, my face a sight of pure anger. A whoosh sounded behind me, and I turned around to see a hidden door popping out of the wall. It blew open gracefully, and a man strolled through the door frame. He was an Indian man, slightly older than 50. His grey hair and darker skin showed in bright contrast to his heavenly white lab coat. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then quietly shut it again, like he second guessed what he was about to say.

"Marilyn, I know you are confused."

God, this dude was a mind reader.

"You have had a lot happen in the past."

No duh.

"Is it okay to tell you the facts? Can you handle it?"

"Uhmm, yes..?"

Wait, could I? Awh, too late. Whatever.

"Okay, this may be a little over your head and a lot to figure out, but bear with me, child. You have been in a coma for over a month. Sadly enough, that truly isn't that long. I can't express how upsetting that is. That woman that joined you in what you refer to as 'unconscious land' is your parental guardian--your aunt. Because this may feel sudden, you may want to take a break from school. Depending on how you react to certain situations and tests, will clarify if you shall go to anywhere besides the hospital. Oh dear, the hospital has been loving you this year, haven't we, now?"

A month? I stood speechless, waiting for his next verbose speech on edge. I realized that his words were true--not everyone is in a coma for a month. Some people are in one for a day, mere minutes. But others, well, they never wake up.

"Excuse me, sir, my aunt?" I inquired.

He paused, opening his mouth carefully. "Yes?"

"She's right there. On the floor?"

"That is correct, my dear. She is right there." He answered.

"No it's not." I stood straight and firm, not letting him trick me.

"Marilyn, it truly is. You should know this."

"I've never met that woman in my life!" I exclaimed.

"Oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear." He said in one breath.

I must of had a confused look on my face because he looked at me funny and then laughed. Seconds later, his serious mode kicked in, and it was back to business. He tapped his phone lightly with his overly large thumb, and the door puffed out of the wall like we were in a sci-fi futuristic movie. He walked through the doorway like it was any other door. Speechless, I stood by, leaning on the wall and wondering what was going on. Should I stay, or go? Did he want me to follow him? As if in response, the steps on the metal floors got louder as he came closer. Peeking his balding head out from the side of the door, he stood positioned so I could only see his eyes and his forehead. "Coming?" He inquired once more. I answered him silently by nodding my head slightly and stepping forward to take my first official steps in a month. Looking down at my teal converse tennis shoes, I quietly approached the door frame. His head popped out once more, scaring me. I screamed and jumped back. "And dear; please. Call me Mac."