A Piece of Me (Tracob)

When I'm Not Me Anymore

Troye

"Troye can you tell me your full name, please?"

"Troye Sivan Mellet." I speak slowly and clearly, worried that this is some sort of mental competency test. The young doctor marks something on her clipboard with a nod.

"How old are you, Troye?"

This question catches me off guard, which I don't like. That's an easy question, who doesn't know their age right off the top of their head? My brain feels a little hazy and foggy at the moment. "Nineteen," I say after a minute. I'm sure that's right.

"Okay," the doctor nods, her face remaining passive. "Tell me what year it is."

"2014."

"And what's the last thing you remember, Troye?"

Again, I have to think before I answer. For some reason I can't think of a specific recent memory. I remember the big things, going to conventions, filming videos, laughing with Tyler and Connor and Zoe and Caspar, the whole gang, but those are more vague sensations of memories. Hard as I try, I can't pinpoint a single moment or memory where I remember exactly what was happening and who was there.

"I-I'm not sure," I reply in a quiet voice. Maybe this is a mental competency test after all. Maybe that's for the better, cause apparently it's a mess up there in my head.

"Okay, that's alright. Don't force yourself." the doctor scribbles something on her clipboard and sets it down. "Troye, do you know why you're in the hospital right now?"

I shake my head. "The first doctor didn't tell me, he said we would wait for a professional to come give an evaluation before risking overwhelming me with information. That's you, right? The professional?"

"Yes, that's me, dear." The doctor straightens her glasses and leans forwards. "You're here in the hospital Troye, because you were in a severe car accident with your sister."

"Sage? But - but she's fine, I saw her when she came in not even 20 minutes ago."

"Sage is fine, aside from a couple fractured ribs. Unfortunately in this case, it was you who suffered from the most physical and mental trauma."

There's the oddest feeling when she says those words, because you're not used to someone telling you how hurt you are, and when someone tells you ____ was injured, your first instinct is to cry out oh no, will they be okay? But I can't very well gasp and say what a tragedy! Am I okay? Give me my sincerest condolences. I nod, because it's the only reasonable response I can come up with at the moment.

"So...what would you like first? My evaluation of your mental state, or the other doctor's evaluation of your physical injuries?"

"Uh, uhm, physical I guess?" It comes out like a question because I truly don't know which one I want to hear - or don't want to hear. I just want her to tell me.

"Okay, physically...you'll take awhile to heal up." She consults her clipboard again for a list. "Here we've got you down with a leg broken in two places, once just under your left knee, and the other right above your ankle. Your arm is fractured along your wrist, and your elbow is dislocated. You've got two casts now, and possibly a wheelchair for a couple weeks. If not a wheelchair, definitely crutches. You've also sustained one broken and one fractured rib, as well as many various cuts and a lot of bruising. My take? It'll be months before you're back to your old capacity, if not more."

"Oh...okay." I'm really not sure what to do with this information. To be completely honest, my entire body is numb and I can't feel a thing. My brain sort of feel the same. Numb to emotion, frozen in medication.