Love Doesn't Have Words [SLOW UPDATES]

-Tiles in the Ceiling-

|[Content Warning: mention of needles]|

Property of Russia

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38...
39...
40...
41...
42...

42.
There are 42 asbestos tiles in the ceiling of this room. I know for sure, since I've counted all 42 six or seven times.

There are many things I've counted in this room. I don't know how long I've been awake, there isn't a clock, so I've counted things to pass the time.

There are 2 needles in my arm. My right arm, specifically. I don't know what liquid it's giving me, I don't feel like turning around to look at the bags on the stand.

I think my bed has buttons to change my sitting position, but I haven't tried them. There are 7 buttons, also on the right side. I can't press them, though, since I can't move my right arm.

There are things I can't count, though. I can't really see the amount of leaves on the tree outside, but I was lucky enough to be granted a high window I can see out of if I crane my neck to the left. It hurts to do so, so I can't really count the leaves.

I hear footsteps. That's common, there's a lot of nurses and stuff around. But they stop when they get a little louder instead of quieting off again. I hear semi-incoherent speaking.

"...the room?"

"...114... was 114, right?"

"Let's just ... him already."

My door knob started to turn. It slowly creaked open, and there was a knock. I don't think it's a nurse. Her knocks are fast, then she opens the door, also fast. This is all too slow.

And, these faces aren't the faces of a nurse. These faces are the ones of my family. Even the hat carried in front of a leather-clad chest is a familiar sight for sour eyes. Finally something besides the ceiling tiles to look at.

My family greets me readily. But my brain is all foggy and a little slow, so I just nod and hope they asked if I was okay. My father quickly places the ushanka atop my head before much talking. He looks into my eyes and smiles. It belongs there, he signs to me.

We all were in the room for a while. It's nice my family is so eager to see me when I'm in the hospital. They apparently missed me, at least, my siblings told me so. My father stayed off to the side. I wonder how many patches are on his coat.

I had already talked to a few nurses when I woke up a while ago. I nod my head when Belarus asks if I know why I'm here. Ukraine swallows nervously from my other side. Maybe he does too.

My father snaps his fingers and our eyes turn toward him. He signs out that the doctors told him everything needed to be told already. Everything was okay, I just needed to look into getting a therapist again. Wonderful. I never really liked therapists, except for one because she gave me candy. It's hard to open up about stuff and just talk about myself and my problems for an hour to an adult, even if they're a trained one.

My father soon left to continue talking with the nurses and doctors about my health or something. It was just me and my siblings, as they told me how boring their day was without me. I laugh with them, and it's there is suddenly a comfortable vibe smothering us. It's nice.

Belarus smiles, and with a sigh begins to sign to me. She was speaking so energetically, why the switch?

"They really missed you, you know. Your friends."

That's good. I like how I have people to care about me. It's still a kind of new feeling, but an accepted one. What did she mean by my friends? Who all spoke to her about my absence? Who all knew the reasoning, or where I was?

It was as if she read my thoughts as my sister signed again. She slowly spelled it out. "Amerika" is what it ended up as. It was new for her to use ASL, but the name makes me smile.

I'm not the one to hold grudges. Sure, it was a little bit on America that I was here in a hospital bed right now, but it still wasn't his fault and I don't blame him for it. I won't say I've fully forgiven him for being rude, but I'm not mad at him. Sevko, either. She was as in the wrong as America was. It was no one's fault, and I stood by that.

Though, out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ukraine may think differently. He stiffened a little at the name. I could feel it more than see it, our good and comfortable vibes turning sour. I turned to him with a questioning gaze, as did Bela.

He shrugged it off, motioning his hand to tell us it's nothing. I'm not sure I believe that, but I trust him to tell us if anything is wrong and drop the subject.

Me and my sister mostly signed to each other, me being careful about the needles in my arm. Sometimes, Ukraine would pop in with a snap of his fingers or a simple nod. I still think he's hiding why he's worked up, but I won't push. I know by now not to push.

"Oh!" Belarus suddenly exclaimed. I have her a questioning gave an a tilt of my head to tell her to continue. "I forgot, but you can have your phone now."

She handed me my phone, and I thanked her before taking in my lock screen. It was full of messages from various people, some unknown numbers. I also noticed the time was 17:52. I looked at my siblings, and they confirmed to me that my phone has been going off the whole time they were coming over here, so they put it on do not disturb.

I swiped through the messages, scanning the names. Mostly unknown numbers, but all of them messages seem worried about me. The be exact, there were three different numbers trying to ask if I was okay.

I open the first one, and they say they are Philippines. He mainly asks how I was, not asking any "why"s or "how"s. I shoot him back a fast "I'm fine" and move to the next one.

The next is apparently Japan. She says she missed me in world history and science, and I smile. She said she had heard of my state from America, which is probably the same as Phil. I told her I was okay as well and looked at the last one.

Of course, it was America himself. As I read through, his messages were long and repetitive. The basics of them were "I'm sorry for being part of what landed you in a hospital, please don't be mad at me". I shook my head with a smile, he really was the overly-apologetic type. I respond back that it's okay and I'm fine, then out my phone back down.

I talk again for my siblings for a while before my father says they have to leave. I'd be staying here overnight another night, but at least I'd have my phone this time. We say our goodbyes and I am left in the hospital room alone.

Maybe it's not that bad this time, I lament, the comfortable aura of my family never leaving my side. This time I won't count the tiles.