Britney Patterson+
Beep. Beep. Beep. Every other second I hear the same constant sound. What is that bothersome noise? I attempt to open my eyes but it's harder than I thought. It takes maybe two minutes before I succeed. When my eyes open it takes a few minutes for them to adjust to the bright room but when they do I panic. Hospital? Why am I in the hospital? I try to move but I feel indescribable pain in my left shoulder. I prop myself up using my right arm instead, pulling the thin hospital blanket down to my knees.
When I sit up I realise how badly my body was in pain, my head was swimming in confusion and additional pain as I sway in tiredness. In curiosity and carelessness I put my hand over my left shoulder tightly and I almost scream before I realise how stupid I was to do that. After recovering I take the time to carefully run my hand over my shoulder, feeling a large, thick gauze. I try hard to remember what happened, if I can. I don't understand why I'm here. I frown when a thought comes to mind. Did I somehow get into another coma? I look at my hands, then to my visible forearm. I have scars.
Everywhere. I push my sleeve up more, revealing a larger amount of scars. Why? My mind is too caught up when I remember everything that I didn't even realise I stopped breathing. It happened. Everything I remember is true. I bring it back to my face and try to feel for a bandage, it's on the side of my head where I was hit earlier. I press lightly on it and I feel that it's had time to form a nice bruise, but it doesn't hurt too badly. I begin to panic and I hear my heart rate monitor beep faster. I counted how many wires were inserted into my body. One in each hand. Two in one of my arms and one in the other. Then one in my right wrist.
Is this why I feel so tired? What were they injecting me with? I tried to calm myself down but I couldn't help screaming in surprise when a male nurse and a Doctor rush in minutes later. When I scream I stop seconds afterwards, feeling a rough, burning affliction in the back of my throat, tears escape my eyes at the pain. I grip my throat as the Doctor rushes beside me. I turn my back to him out of fear, not wanting him to see him, the nurse, anyone in general. I want to be alone. I need to be alone right now. I try my best to pull the blanket to my head as I cried further, painful silent sobs escaping me.
"What should we do?" I hear the nurse ask. The Doctor attempts to pull the blanket off gently but it only results in me gripping it harder. I bite my lip in frustration, hard enough to draw blood. I hear the Doctor sigh heavily. "Leave her be, we'll let her calm down first." A few seconds pass and I hear the tapping of their footsteps walking out of the room. I wait a few more seconds before pulling the cover down to my nose, letting the blanket fall to my hips when I realized I was given privacy.
I touch my throat again, my cold hand feeling the numb and stinging area. I feel myself frown. Why did it hurt so much? It was close to fine yesterday. I gulp, but that was a mistake, it hurt to swallow my own saliva. Why did I only notice now? I breathe through my nose and try to relax, the last thing I want to do is to make people think I'm crazier than I already am. I use my good arm to set the pillow up so I can lean on it, it still aches for some reason, my whole body is still aching, but it's not like the pillow wouldn't cause any injury. At least I hope it won't.
I run my hand over my face as I try to remember exactly why and how I ended up in this bed; I remember being shot, then shooting. My memories are reminded when I notice my hands are still a very light faded pink with my own blood. They didn't clean thoroughly. I run my hand through my hair, licking my chapped lips as I feel my migraine growing. I close my eyes, breathing through my mouth as I part my lips, inhaling the stale hospital air. I look around my room in contempt. God everything is so...white. It hurts my eyes. When I find the clock on the wall I feel myself frown. 11:23 Am. What day is it? Which hospital is this?
YOU ARE READING
This is life.
RomanceBritney Patterson was always known for being advanced. In everything from her academics, to her looks. She was fairly intelligent, scoring an IQ of 138 and heading to college as she had just turned 17. She was also young and utterly as well as unden...