Seventeen is the age that decides who every young soul is destined to be with forever. Dating back to Neanderthals, humans have always felt this natural pull to the other half of their soul. Made to make sure that the human population is reproducing...
In case you guys haven't seen the update in YCBA for those of you that have read the Playing With Fire series...my writing is sort of trash today. I'm sorry.
When do you guys think this story reaches its climax? C'mon, someone prove to me that y'all are smarties. Just gimme a chapter :D
Oh! I've also decided that I'm probably going to go off schedule until field hockey starts, since I want to spontaneously update a bit. (I'm on vacation, it might be more often or less, who even knows?) You guys commenting urges me to update more, tho, I swear. I replied to four comments today of people going "SEVENTEEN, OWL. UPDATE IT." and I was like ooooops gotta go write a chapter now. Give the people what they want ;P
Happy reading xx
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S o p h i e F o s t e r
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I wake to the sound of an electrocardiogram continuously disrupting the silence around me. It sounds just like an EKG from movies, I muse in my head. I must be watching too much Grey's Anatomy with Maya.
The first thing I can feel – or should I say sense – is my entire body feeling exhausted. It's still aching from Stina and her minions the other day. Already, I can feel that there are already bruises on my body. Everything's just drooping or trying to at least.
When the feeling in my head returns, I feel something in my head. It's not a headache, but a literally ache. My thinking process feels slower than usual as well. I feel hazy.
Something takes presence over one of my eyes when I try to open them both. When I only succeed in opening one, no matter how hard I try.
I reluctantly move a hand up to my eyes, feeling some sort of bandage covering it. Muscles scream in protest, but I ignore them all. My fingers trace the bandage further up my head, over my blonde hair.
The last thing I remember is everything going black. I must have collapsed and hit my head on the way down.
I focus on moving my tired body. With some struggling, after a minute I sit up.
Where even am I? The question echoes through my head as I take in the blindingly white walls and floor tiles. The bed I'm on is white, too.
My head throbs again, as thought it wants to remind me that it's oh-so critically injured.
I sit still for a little while, wondering what's happened while I've been unconscious. Somewhere along the way, my mind wanders to Keefe. I still don't know what to think of the fact that I've found of my soulmate, never mind what to think of him.
I'm just beginning to ponder if it's worth making my body move – taking into account how much effort it took to sit up, of course – when a doctor walks in.
He's young, with dark brown hair. I want to ask him if he's supposed to be in here, he seems so young. But then his grey-blue eyes meet mine and all questions stop running through my mind when he seems surprised.
"Oh, you're awake!" he exclaims, straightening his white uniform. He taps his pen on his clipboard. "Forgive me, I wasn't expecting you to be. I'm Elwin and I'll be one of the many doctors you're seeing today. Sophie Foster, is it?"
It takes me a moment to comprehend what he's saying and answer him. "That's me."
"Great!" He scribbles something down on his clipboard briefly. "You're currently at the Healing Center in town. You were brought here after you reportedly collapsed at your local high school and hit your head hard. Your friend – Dexter, was it? – rode in the ambulance with you and is waiting for news outside. Your parents have been notified of your condition and should be on route."
Grady's going to flip and bust down the Emergency Wing if he hasn't already. It's the first thought I have, feeling like my brain has been overloaded.
"How long have I been out?" I rasp, my mouth dry as anything.
The doctor notices right away, and hands me a glass of water. "I'd say an hour or two. You've also got stitches on your head, which is why it's currently under wraps – literally. They'll be in to test you for a concussion later today."
Great.
I nod, wincing. My head hurts more from taking information in all at once than from the stitches. Almost.
Doctor Elwin keeps talking. "I'm actually here for a different purpose, though. I've been called in because of a few of the symptoms we already have seen in you that might signify certain things. I'm a specialist. I'm going to ask you a few questions, alright?"
"Yes," I say, no longer questioning whether he is experienced or not. I'm worried now.
"You've lost a lot of blood, so stay with me. I'm just going to list some symptoms and see if you've had any of them. Have you recently experienced night sweats, weight loss, or fever? How about hoarseness? Any difficulty swallowing? Indigestion?"
I shake my head no, just trying to keep up. I don't think being hoarse after being unconscious counts towards hoarseness.
"Fatigue? Easy bleeding or bruising? Bone tenderness? Nonhealing sores? Headaches? Back pain? Bloating?"
I hesitate to answer this time around. My symptoms are because of bullying, aren't they? But I figure that I should play it safe and tell him what I have anyways.
"I've had all of those other than bloating, back pain, and nonhealing sores," I say as professionally as I can, taking another gulp of the water.
He pauses at my words to scribble things down. "Tell me, Sophie, is this your first time collapsing in the past month? Any dizziness or lightheadedness?"
I can feel my stomach sinking at how specific the questions are. "Yes," I say again, quieter this time. This feels like a bad dream where I'm interrogated and it doesn't end well.
The doctor seems to be both talkative and observant. My volume level is noted, and he instantly moves to reassure me, his expression softening. "Hey, don't worry about anything right now. This is just to figure out why you collapsed in the first place. How many times have you been feeling this way within the past month?"
The ache in my head pounds in sync with my heart as I answer. "I don't know. A lot. Twenty times, maybe? I'm not really sure."
The conviction in his eyes worry me. Doctor Elwin proceeds to scribble more down. "We're just going to do a blood test, now. Just to make sure nothing wonky is going on here."
I can't tell by his playfulness and wink that he's trying to relax me, but the pit in my stomach doesn't budge. "Okay."
He goes out into the hall and comes back with the equipment. He then takes my blood and leaves the room.
