When I wake up, all I see is white. It's a dazzling, blinding light, and I have to blink a few times to get used to it. Beside me, I hear a steady beeping, making my head pound. The brightness of the room wasn't making things any better. I clench my eyes shut, wondering where I am. And why.
I open my eyes when I hear a rapid shuffling along the floor. I have to blink a few times, but I make out the figure of a man standing beside the bed where I was laying.
The brightness of the room slowly fades, and I see I'm laying in a hospital room. The man who came in was the doctor, dressed in a long white coat. His black hair is speckled with hints of grey, and kind blue eyes peer at me from behind his glasses.
"Miss Sanders," he smiles at me, clutching his clip board. "You gave us quite a scare. I figured you'd be waking up about now." He looks back down at his clip board and joys a few things down. "I'm just checking your vitals, everything seems to be fine. You do, however, have a concussion from a severe blow to the head."
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. A concussion? Blow to the head?
"What happened?" My voice comes out scratchy, like sandpaper. "How long have I been here?"
He gives me a sympathetic look, sliding his clipboard under his arm at his side. "You don't remember anything, do you?" He asks rhetorically. "You've only been here for about seven hours." I nod, glancing down at the IV hooked into the crease of my elbow.
"To answer your other question, your mother said you had been drinking,"
he pauses to take in my reaction. As he says this, images float into my mind of me drinking from the heavy bottle as I paint a picture of some people.
"She said you tripped and fell, and hit your head on the corner of an easel that was near you. She said she ran up the stairs to see what had caused the noise." As he says the last part, my heart speeds up. I remember my mother coming into my studio, grabbing the bottle, and hitting me with it. It's all clear now.
My eyes well up with tears and I begin to frantically shake my head.
"She's a liar!" I scream to him, and his eyes widen. "She did this to me! She hit me with a glass bottle, and-"
I'm forced to stop talking, I have to take a few deep breaths to stop the tears. The doctor hurries to my side, hooking up another IV.
"Now, now, because of the concussion it's normal to have hallucinations. It seems like you're remembering something that happened, when in reality, you sort of dreamed it up, to put it in simple terms," he says to me, pushing the needle into the crease of my other elbow.
"This will help you calm down. It won't put you to sleep again, but it'll make you feel a bit sedated."
"I know what happened," I weakly plead, but he merely chuckles and shakes his head before walking back out of the room.
Why wouldn't he believe me? I know what happened, I can clearly remember my mom hitting me on the back of the head, despite my drunken state.
And, how could the doctor believe her? How does one fall and hit the back of their head on the corner of an easel? That's the stupidest explanation I've ever heard. But, it seemed to work.
I sit and think of reasons why my mother would hurt me in that way. What did I do to her? Had she been drinking to? Was she in her right mind? As I think of this, I think back to my dream, where my mother and Storm killed Harry and I. I shiver.
It's just then that I realize that I didn't have the dream last night, which surprises me. The last time I didn't have it was a few weeks ago.
For the next few hours, I sit in misery, alone in my room. Where are my parents? And more importantly, where's Harry? Why wasn't he there to stop my mother from doing that? Did he go back to the hideout with his friends, and just not know that I was in danger? I wish I knew.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a knock sounds at the door of my hospital room. Thinking it's a doctor or nurse to check up on me, I tell them to come on in. My eyes widen to see that it's my mother. My breaths come out in spurts. I'm angry and scared.
"Get out," I whisper in hatred, my eyes welling up in tears. She furrows her brows, giving me a sympathetic smile.
"Honey, what's wrong?" She asks me, her voice as sweet as sugar. I move over to the edge of the bed, far away from her. The action makes the room spin.
"Don't act all innocent. I remember what you did."
"What are you talking about?" She fakes being confused.
"You're a monster," I whisper, rubbing my eyes. I hear her gasp.
"Madelynn! Don't you dare talk to me that way. You fell and hit your head when you were drunk out of your mind. If anything, I'm your savior for calling 911 when I heard you fall," her voice raises slightly as she defends herself. But I don't let her get to me. I know what happened. And I know that she's not at all my savior. My dream was telling me something.
"If you continue to believe this, I will be calling your therapist and you'll go twice a week. Am I clear?" She asks sternly. She's threatening me not to keep on with telling the truth. I scowl at her, and decide to let it rest. Only for now.
I know what happened.
"Get out," I whisper quietly, not looking at her.
"I am your mother, I have the right to be in here!" She exclaims, placing her bony hand over her heart.
"Get out!" I scream, and I begin pulling at my hair. Tears spill out of my eyes, and I hear the beeping of the heart monitor speed up dramatically.
"I know what you did, stop lying to me and everyone else! Get out of here!" I yell at her, and tears well up in her eyes. She may be a liar, but she's a damn good one.
I sigh in relief when the nurses rush in, checking to make sure everything's okay. Another IV is added, and I cry harder.
"Get her out," I sob to the elderly nurse standing near the door. She grabs my mother gently by the arm, giving her a sympathetic glance. She deserves no sympathy.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to escort you back to the waiting area," she says to the monster I am forced to call my mother, and finally, the two of them leave. I'm given a few sleeping pills, and eventually, everyone else leaves.
I'm glad to be alone. I finally fall asleep, still crying, thinking of only how bad I want Harry.
Harry, where are you?
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