Moments Before

Ashton Chapter 19

I'll be totally honest I'm not sure what people meant when they asked that I write an authors note at the beginning of each chapter. I guess all I have to say is that I hope you guys like the story so far. I love hearing from people who have read it so feel free to message me or comment, what you like or don't like. Something that you think I could work on I'm totally up for constructive criticism. Or comment how these author's notes are supposed to go cause I have no clue how to write one apparently. Lol. Also I apologize for the inconsistency of the posts. I work full time on top of the IB highschool program so I just get really busy. I'll do my best to post more often though. 

P.S I forgot to say thank you so much to the people who have been reading this so far. The fact that you guys like it means tons. So... thank you! Hope you enjoy. (And do we like this format better? With the POV and chapter at the top and than the note and than chapter?)

Chapter 19

Why the hell do they make hospital lights so bright? I mean really waking up from drug induced sleep after surgery they think the first thing I want to look into is a freaking spotlight. My groan causes the plethora of people who were waiting to stir. Unfortunately someone with chocolate hair and a smile that makes goldfish wriggle in my stomach isn't sitting here. I don't want to seem upset and make my parents freak out so I don't say anything but I really wish that Noah and Rico had stuck around. 

Ramon lingers  in the back corner as if wondering if he's allowed to be here. I'm not sure if he is though. What he said to me... and now this... I can't handle him snapping at me again but it seems vindictive to ask him to leave. Logan's shaggy head is slumped over on the bed by my body. He's claimed my hand and even sound asleep doesn't let go. The commotion doesn't wake him up because he could sleep through a hurricane. Cole smiles and doesn't say anything but I can read the collective thought around the room. 

Unfortunately we've been here before; in the hospital room. It hurts to relive the memory of that day but it would seem that PTSD isn't giving me a choice. I remember the burnt toast smell that I thought would never go away. I was still cold, they gave me all the heating pads that they could, piled me under blankets and turned the room temp to a sweltering degree. Still I was frozen, the kind of chill that hits the bones and spreads through the skeletal system like frost on a window pane. I was attached to so many machines and I hated the constant beeping noise. My heart beat, monitoring brain waves, doctors and nurses coming in and out to speak with my parents. 

One day I couldn't take the noise and I unplugged all of the machines, just for some peace and quiet, even if it was only for a few minutes. I never did it again though, my mother came in looking more upset than I've ever seen her in my life. She was a wreck when she walked by and couldn't hear the familiar reminder that my heart was still beating. 

When I got home I was so excited to be able to sleep in my own bed. Safe and curled up with all things around me totally familiar. I opened the door to my room and inhaled a sanitary bleach smell. Someone had cleaned, which from a logical point of view, is a very nice thing to do. But to me? While I was vulnerable someone rifled through my most precious possessions and changed it. They tidied the knick knacks on the desks and shelves so that I couldn't recognize my used-to-be sanctuary. And that night climbing into my bed it felt so alien to me. And the silence, instead of the comfort I was expecting turned sinister and eerie. I ended up crawling out of my bed and turning on music to listen to as I drifted off. To this day I can't sleep without some noise in my room. 

The memories play back fast and I push them into the back of my mind. Derrick is sitting next to me gripping my hand the way a child holds on to their beloved stuffed toy when they're scared. Mom has been crying and that churns my insides like their in a juicer. Her cheeks are blotchy and red, her mascara running and she's still making those little gasping breaths people make when they are desperately trying not to cry. I don't think Dad cried but he still looks wrecked, his whole face looks slightly sunken into his face. 

I'm about to say something stupid like hi, or how are you guys. But before I can get a word out doctors have arrived on the scene and rushed my family out. The next few days they had me so heavily drugged I'll be frank I can't remember a sliver of it. 

I remember people floating in and out of the room and coming in and out of a dreamy haze. What I do remember? I didn't see Noah that entire time. I mean, why would he come and visit me, it's not like I did him a huge favor or anything.